《唐玄宗御注道德真经》

The sages of antiquity labored to set down subtle and profound teachings, thereby revealing the Daoist tradition’s fundamental purpose and enlightening later generations. Their writings still survive, yet many of their deeper meanings have already been distorted. To sum up the matter, the explanations of Yan Zun of Shu, a Daoist scholar of the Western Han, remain inadequate; and in citing passages and chapters, the commentary of Heshang Gong, a Han-dynasty commentator on Daoist texts, also leaves things unexplained. There is no need to list the other interpretations that have gradually fallen into decline. Is the subtle intent of the Mysterious Originator, Laozi, truly to be lost?

My abilities are modest, but I have long been moved by this classic. Thanks to the blessings passed down by my ancestors, I fear that I may misunderstand the principle of Wuwei (non-action). So, in my quiet leisure, I have often explored its mysteries and written a commentary based on my own understanding. I do not mean to establish a school of my own; I only seek to supply what is missing. Now that the commentary is complete, I invite the nobles and officials, the people, and those of both the Daoist and Buddhist traditions to offer their views. If anyone can guide me as Bu Shang (Zixia) guided Confucius, or point out my errors as Zuo Shi (Zuo Qiuming) criticized the failings of his age, I will gladly accept the advice. Any truly helpful counsel will be richly rewarded. I do not mean those ministers who think themselves wise but offer only flattery; and mutual boasting through empty displays is merely a petty art. Since I do not shrink from frank criticism, all may speak openly and point out my errors. Do not let later generations ridicule me and further damage my De (Virtue/Power).

Upper Part of the Dao Jing, Chapter One: “The Dao That Can Be Spoken”

The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao; the name that can be named is not the eternal name.

“Dao” is the wondrous function that appears when stillness and emptiness reach their utmost. “Name” is the designation each thing receives in accordance with what it is. The workings of the Dao can be applied to all things, so it is said to be “speakable.” Names arise from these workings, so things can be named. The Dao’s applications have no fixed limits; therefore, it cannot be described as a single, unchanging way. All things differ, and their names differ too, so no one fixed name can encompass them all. We call it “Dao” only as a makeshift designation, for the Dao itself has no fixed name.

The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth; the named is the mother of the myriad things.

“Nameless” refers to the mysterious source. The mysterious source manifests as Qi, bringing forth the first beginnings of Heaven and Earth; because Heaven and Earth begin from it, it is called “nameless.” “Named” refers to the Dao in its manifest workings. The Dao’s workings transform and nourish the myriad things, enabling them to flourish and grow. Because all things are nurtured by it, it is called “named.”

By remaining free of desire, one can perceive the Dao’s subtle source. When one remains in a state of desire, one can see only the Dao’s outer limits and traces.

At birth, a person’s nature is clear and still; this is the nature bestowed by Heaven. When contact with external things stirs a person into action, desire arises. If one can remain clear and still, set aside distracting thoughts, calm the spirit, and turn inward to reflect on one’s nature, one can perceive the subtle source. If one does not set one’s nature in order, one’s emotions and intentions will chase after desire. Desire then clouds one’s nature, and one loses sight of the Dao’s source. Even if one wishes to perceive that source, one will see only its outer limits and appearances.

The two just described both emerge from the same source; therefore, they are said to “emerge together.” The Dao manifests through its workings, and different workings give rise to different names; therefore, they are also said to have “different names.”

Their shared source is called “Mystery.” They appear under different names, yet tracing them back leads to the same source: this is called “Mystery.” “Mystery” means what is deep and subtle.

Within the Mystery lies a still deeper mystery: this is the gateway to the many wondrous workings. When thoughts no longer arise delusively, one can unite with the Mystery. Yet one must also avoid clinging to the “Mystery,” lest one become stuck. The phrase “mystery upon mystery” makes clear that even attachment to the Mystery must be relinquished. When this is achieved, the myriad teachings arise naturally from it; hence it is called “the gateway to all wonders.”

Chapter Two: All Under Heaven Know

Once everyone under Heaven knows what counts as beautiful, the standard of beauty takes shape, and ugliness becomes apparent. Once everyone under Heaven knows what counts as good, the standard of goodness takes shape, and what is not good becomes apparent.

What are called beauty and goodness both arise from people’s desires and intentions. Whatever accords with someone’s desires may be regarded by that person as beautiful, even if it is repulsive in itself. Thus, “everyone under Heaven knows” means that people take what they themselves consider beautiful as beautiful, and what they themselves consider good as good. Beauty and goodness have no fixed, unchanging standards; they are produced by the deluded feelings of the human mind. People cling to being and nonbeing, distinguish between difficult and easy, the wondrous and the decayed, and compare and contend with one another. The great sage sees through this illusion, which is why it is said that “ugliness becomes apparent.”

Being and nonbeing reveal one another; difficult and easy take shape in relation to each other; long and short show their difference through comparison; high and low take their positions by inclining against one another; tone and sound harmonize with one another; before and after follow one another.

These six pairs of concepts are relative to one another, each taking its turn as a name. Like beauty and ugliness, they do not arise independently from their own nature. Their differences come about through the mind’s deluded acts of distinction.

Therefore, the sage handles affairs through Wuwei (non-action) and carries out teaching without words. “Handling affairs through Wuwei” means doing nothing contrived; “handling affairs” is simply a borrowed expression, which is why it is called “handling.” “Teaching without words” means forgetting speech; “teaching” is simply a borrowed expression, which is why it is called “carrying out.”

The myriad things grow and move, and the sage does not interfere with them or demand their gratitude.

The sage lets the myriad things grow and flourish each in its own way, without claiming them as possessions. The sage lets them act, without relying on their actions. In this way, even when the work of peace and stability has been accomplished, one should still cultivate De (Virtue/Power) with care day after day, and never grow complacent or self-satisfied.

Precisely because the sage does not claim credit or become self-satisfied, the work does not disappear.

Chapter Three: Do Not Esteem the Worthy

If worthy people are not held up as objects of praise, the people will not contend with one another.

Exalting the worthy creates reputations and standards for people to pursue. When people follow these reputations and standards single-mindedly, rivalry grows. Those who cultivate De (Virtue/Power) forget their own achievements, and the achievements remain of themselves. They do not claim credit, and so they do not depart from the Great Dao.

Chapter Three: Do Not Exalt the Worthy

If the worthy are not specially exalted, the people will not compete with one another.

Once the worthy are exalted, reputations and standards arise for people to pursue. As people chase after these standards, rivalry takes hold. Let the worthy and the unworthy each be content in their proper place, and rivalry will disappear.

If goods that are difficult to obtain are not treated as precious, the people will not steal.

“Goods that are difficult to obtain” means things that are not originally part of a person’s nature or proper portion. The more something is sought but remains unattainable, the more it is called rare. If someone is not content with their proper portion and insists on seeking what they do not inherently possess, they have already gone against their own nature. Can this not be called stealing? Let the myriad things follow their own natures and let each task accord with each person’s abilities. Then rare goods will not be prized, and people will not steal to satisfy desires that go against their nature.

If things that stir desire are not displayed, people’s minds will not be thrown into confusion.

When there is no custom of exalting reputations for worthiness and no pursuit of rare goods, there is nothing to provoke greed; people’s minds will naturally remain free of confusion.

Therefore, when the sage governs All Under Heaven, the sage makes people’s minds calm and empty.

When people’s minds are not disturbed by desire, this is called “emptying the mind.”

The sage makes the people’s lives full.

When De is full within, people do not boast or chase after things. Just as they stop when they are full from eating, they give rise to no further greed.

The sage weakens people’s desires and their urge to outdo one another.

When the mind is calm and empty, the ambition to outdo others weakens.

The sage strengthens people’s sinews and bones.

When life is full, the sinews and bones grow strong.

The sage constantly keeps the people free from schemes to pursue fame and profit, and free from greed.

Using the way of clarity and stillness to guide the people, the sage reduces their schemes and desires. Even if someone is clever, the sage ensures that they dare not act recklessly.

Governing through Wuwei (non-action) leaves nothing in All Under Heaven that cannot be governed.

By following the Dao of Wuwei, people can each fulfill their own nature. Then customs will grow simple and honest, and moral guidance can take root.

Chapter Four: The Dao Is Empty

The Dao’s substance is empty, yet in its use it seems never to be exhausted.

When the Dao operates, it produces the Qi of balance and harmony, and through it gives birth to all things. The Dao gives birth to all things, yet never becomes full or self-satisfied. I say it “seems” to be so because I dare not claim certainty about what the Dao truly is. This itself shows that the Dao never becomes full and self-sufficient.

The Dao is deep and still, as though it were the source of all things.

“Deep” means far-reaching and still. The Dao continually gives birth to all things, yet does not become full. Its root is subtle and profoundly still, so it seems to be the ruler and source of all things.

The Dao can blunt its sharpness and resolve turmoil.

The Dao puts balance and harmony to work, and so can curb what is sharp and forceful and disperse disorder. If, like worldly scholars, one single-mindedly seeks to restore things to their former state, this only makes entanglements more severe.

The Dao softens its radiance and mingles with the world.

The Dao is everywhere, yet is confined to no place. It is present in brightness and in the world, and can accord with both. But the Dao’s subtle root is not the same as brightness or the world.

The Dao is still, quiet, and clear, seeming to exist somewhere and nowhere at once.

Though the Dao softens its radiance and mingles with the world, its subtle root is not muddied by external things. It is therefore still, quiet, and clear, seeming to be present, yet difficult to grasp.

I do not know where the Dao comes from; I can only say that it seems to have existed before the Heavenly Emperor.

I do not know what produced the Dao, because it was not generated by any principle, nor does anything earlier serve as its source. It seems to precede the Heavenly Emperor. Here, “Emperor” refers to the Heavenly Emperor who governs the generation of all things, and “seems” means “as if.”

Chapter Five: Heaven and Earth

Heaven and Earth do not show special favor to all things out of benevolence; they let all things live and grow naturally. The sage likewise does not show special favor to the people out of benevolence, but lets them follow the Dao.

“Not benevolent” means not deliberately bestowing benevolence. “Straw dogs” are dogs made by tying straw together. Real dogs can guard a doorway, so people benefit from their protection; straw dogs merely have the shape of dogs…

“Not Humane” means that Heaven and Earth do not bestow their kindness out of a benevolent heart. “Straw dogs” are dogs made of straw. A living dog can guard the house, so people care for it. A straw dog has only the shape of a dog and cannot keep watch or bark, so people feel no special attachment to it. The passage says that Heaven and Earth regard the myriad things as people regard straw dogs: they do not favor or show special care for any one kind.

Put another way, if the highest benevolence favors no one, why deliberately extend equal love to everyone? Fixating on love can make true equality harder to achieve and turn it into partiality. If we regard not only our own relatives as family, but all people under Heaven as family, and see not only our own children but all children under Heaven as our own, then supreme benevolence, by favoring no one, already reaches the widest possible kinship. Why would it need to extend equal love deliberately?

Is the space between Heaven and Earth not like a bellows or a flute?

A tuo is a bellows, and a yue is a flute. The bellows set air in motion, while the flute lets air flow through it. Both can operate and produce a response because their interiors are empty and they have no will of their own. The myriad things grow between Heaven and Earth without favoritism for the same reason: Heaven and Earth are empty and without intention, and do not interfere out of private motives.

Though empty, they are never exhausted. Set in motion, they release an unceasing flow of breath.

The bellows and flute are empty inside and hold to nothing; for this reason, as they operate, they can respond to what comes. Heaven and Earth nurture the myriad things without favoritism for the same reason: they are empty and without intention.

Though empty, they are never exhausted. Set in motion, they release an unceasing flow of breath.

The bellows and flute are empty, yet this does not wear them down; the more they operate, the more sound they produce. This serves as a metaphor for the sage: with no partial affection in the heart, the sage is not constrained by private feelings and can respond to things without being depleted, just as the longer the instruments operate, the richer their sounds become.

Too much talk often leads to trouble. Better to hold to the middle way.

When words are excessive and fail to answer appropriately, one is liable to meet with repeated setbacks. Deliberately extending equal love to everyone makes it hard to attend to all properly and can invite resentment. Better to keep to the middle way, so that each side can naturally be treated as it should.

Chapter Six: The Valley Spirit

The Valley Spirit never dies.

“Valley” refers to a state of emptiness that can respond to things; “spirit” refers to a subtle, unfathomable function. Here, “dies” means to come to a halt or cease. A valley answers a sound, though people do not know its mystery. When something calls to it, it responds in turn, as if its marvelous activity never ceased. The “Valley Spirit” here illustrates the ultimate Dao: empty, yet able to nurture and generate the myriad things; its workings are subtle and cannot be fully explained in words.

This is called the “Mysterious Female”—the deep, generative source that gives birth to and transforms the myriad things.

“Dark” means profound and mysterious; “female” refers to motherhood and the maternal body. The Valley Spirit—the wondrous capacity of emptiness and stillness to respond to things—acts along with the changes of all things. It is empty yet never stagnant, and its wondrous efficacy is inexhaustible. Profound, subtle, and without end, it can nurture all things. Thus it is called the “Valley Spirit” and the “Mysterious Female,” names that describe the Dao’s power to give birth to and sustain all things.

The “gate of the Mysterious Female” is the source of Heaven, Earth, and all things. Profound and subtle, empty and still like a maternal body, it can nurture all things, which are born from it; this is why it is called a “gate.” Heaven and Earth have form, and so they take this as their root, receiving from it what they need in order to come into being.

The workings of this empty, still maternal source continue without interruption, fine and subtle, as if present yet difficult to grasp. It acts naturally, without deliberate intention, and so shows no sign of strain.

Chapter Seven: Heaven and Earth Endure

Heaven and Earth endure. Heaven and Earth are able to exist for a long time.

The text uses the endurance of Heaven and Earth to show that only what is free of self-interest and intention can last. Heaven and Earth do not make themselves their purpose in nurturing all things, and so they endure. Though they nurture all things and their efficacy is vast, they do not boast of the merit of bringing things into being, because they act in accordance with the Dao.

Therefore, the Sage puts himself last, yet finds himself at the head of everyone. He sets himself aside, yet is able to preserve himself. Because the Sage takes a place behind others, people are glad to put him forward, and so he can lead. Because he is not attached to himself and remains inwardly detached, he is able to preserve himself.

Is this not precisely because he is selfless? It is through selflessness that he fulfills himself. Heaven and Earth do not claim as their own the merit of nurturing all things; this is selflessness. Thus they endure, and in this way fulfill themselves. The Sage, too, withdraws to the rear and sets himself apart from affairs; this is selflessness. Thus he can take the lead and preserve himself, and in this way fulfill himself.

Chapter Eight: Highest Goodness Is Like Water

The highest goodness is like water.

Here the text describes the highest goodness of the perfected person, one of outstanding virtue, by comparing it to the qualities of water, whose nature resembles the Dao.

Water excels at nourishing all things without contending with them. It stays in the low places that everyone despises, and so comes closest to the Dao (the fundamental principle governing how all things in the universe operate). Here, “near” means “close to.”

In choosing where to live, be content with low places, as water is. Those of the highest virtue deal with others gently and humbly, like water flowing downward, yet able to nourish all things.

Let the heart be still and deep, like deep water. Give to others in a way that accords with benevolence, as water nourishes all things. Speak with honesty and reliability, as water passes through dangerous places and still follows its nature, never departing from what is constant.

In governing, be skillful at helping things find their proper place, as water washes all things clean. In handling affairs, be skillful at following the nature of things, as water takes the shape of its container, whether square or round, without stubbornly remaining fixed. In action, know how to seize the right moment, as water melts in spring and freezes in winter, changing with the seasons.

Only by not contending can one avoid bringing errors upon oneself. Those of the highest virtue are open and responsive to all things, like water. When they meet an obstruction, they pause; when a passage opens, they flow. They do not oppose what lies outside them, and so make no mistakes.

Chapter Nine: Holding and Filling

If you hold something full and try to keep it from spilling, it is better to stop when enough has been reached. Accumulating wealth becomes a burden and is likely to bring regret and trouble in the end. “Stop” means to cease.

Sharpening something until it is keen, or single-mindedly pursuing fame and status, cannot be sustained for long. After becoming wealthy and honored, people easily grow arrogant and thereby invite misfortune.

Even when gold and jade fill the hall, no one can keep them forever. This shows that fullness is difficult to sustain.

Arrogance after attaining wealth and honor brings misfortune upon oneself.

Even when gold and jade fill the hall, no one can keep them forever. This shows that fullness is difficult to sustain.

Arrogance after attaining wealth and honor brings misfortune upon oneself.

This passage says that sharp things are hard to grasp. Once pride arises, faults follow; they are not caused by anything else.

After achievements have been made and one’s name has become prominent, one should step back and yield, restraining one’s growing power. This is like the workings of Heaven’s Dao, which move through fullness and emptiness, flourishing and decline. Knowing when to yield allows one to avoid trouble.

Chapter Ten: Carrying the Soul and Embracing the One

In carrying the soul and embracing the One, can you keep them from parting?

At the beginning of a person’s formation, what is called the po is the vital energy linked to the body. After birth, the hun also comes to be: the vital energy that enables a person to act. The po belongs to Yin, and the hun to Yang. A person who bears the tranquil, empty po should continually nourish and protect it, allowing Yang energy to recover its fullness. When Yang energy is abundant, life can be whole and healthy. Here, “the One” means purity and undividedness. To restore Yang energy and preserve life, one must hold fast to this purity. Can you keep it from leaving you?

By concentrating Qi and bringing it to softness, can you become like an infant?

Can you gather the harmonious Qi with undivided attention and bring body and mind to a state of gentleness, like an infant? Here, “the One” again means purity and undividedness. Holding to this purity allows life to return to wholeness, untouched by distracting thoughts. To be like an infant is to make no distinctions, and to be gentle and natural.

By cleansing the dark mirror, can you leave it without blemish?

The “dark mirror” refers to inward awareness; “blemish” means flaws and defects. Can you cleanse your heart-mind so that its awareness is clear and pure, without blemish?

In loving the people and governing the state, can you practice Wuwei (non-action)?

Can you care for the people and govern the state through Wuwei? If you refrain from meddling, the myriad things will transform and grow of their own accord. The earlier discussion of nourishing the hun and po teaches self-cultivation. Only after cultivating oneself and completing one’s De can one be fit to govern the state.

When Heaven’s gate opens and closes, can you remain receptive?

“Gate of Heaven” refers to the point from which the sequence of the calendar begins—the order in which the Mandate of Heaven is bestowed and passed on. “Opening and closing” describes the alternation between orderly and troubled times. The passage says that when a ruler follows the course of the times and receives the Mandate of Heaven, he can enjoy Heaven’s blessings and emoluments for a long time if he maintains a gentle, quiet, and humble attitude.

Another interpretation says that the Book of Changes teaches: “One opening and one closing are called change.” The sage acts in accord with the times and responds flexibly as things change. He does not rely on force or show off his strength, but remains gentle and humble. This is like the Gate of Heaven opening and closing, diminishing what is full and adding to what is lacking.

If a ruler remains gentle and quiet, the people will gladly uphold his De (Virtue/Power). His insight shines everywhere like sunlight, yet he must forget his own achievements and not assume the position of master. Thus the text asks, “Can he be free of knowledge?”—that is, can he avoid treating his intelligence and talent as grounds for self-reliance?

Let all things grow and nurture them: bring them to life without claiming ownership; act without relying on your accomplishments; hold the place of an elder without controlling or ruling over them. When a ruler can act this way, his De is profound and mysterious.

Chapter Eleven: Thirty Spokes

Thirty spokes meet at a wheel hub, the part at the wheel’s center that connects them. It is precisely because the hub is empty that the wheel can serve its purpose.

This passage explains that what is present and what is absent depend on one another and work together. The spokes gather at the hub, and the wheel, carriage body, axle, and other solid parts come together to make a cart. The open space inside the cart allows it to carry things and move. Without the solid parts, there would be no empty space to speak of; without open space inside the cart, its solid parts could not fulfill the cart’s purpose.

Clay is kneaded and shaped to make a vessel. It is precisely because the vessel is empty inside that it can hold things.

“Shan” means to knead and shape, and “zhi” means clay. The potter kneads and shapes the clay, then fires it to make earthenware vessels.

A house becomes usable through the open spaces made by its doors and windows. Those empty spaces are what make the house useful.

The ancients sometimes dug into the earth to make dwellings and opened doors and windows in them. So the word “carve” here means to cut out an opening.

Thus, solid things provide convenience, while empty space is what makes them function.

Solid things become useful through empty space, while empty space can function only through solid things. What lies above physical form is called the Dao (the Way); what lies below physical form is called a vessel—that is, a concrete thing. To explain how the utmost Dao works, Laozi uses the simple example of a house: solid things provide convenience, while empty space makes them function. In this way, he shows how the profound and subtle Dao manifests its workings through tangible things.

Chapter Twelve: The Five Colors

The five colors dazzle the eyes; the five tones dull the ears; the five flavors unsettle the palate.

The eyes crave the sight of colors such as blue-green and yellow, the ears become absorbed in musical tones such as gong and zhi, and the mouth longs for delicacies such as meat. When these pleasures become excessive, they harm the body’s senses, even making a person seem deaf or blind.

Riding horses at a gallop and hunting across the fields make the mind and spirit run wild.

Here, rushing about in busyness and becoming absorbed in striving are compared to hunting: one seeks only to capture prey, struggles inwardly day after day, and pursues external things without rest. Considered calmly, this is like a kind of madness.

Rare goods obstruct people’s conduct.

What lies beyond one’s nature and abilities may remain unattainable, however hard one pursues it. Insisting on chasing rare things obstructs the practice of the Dao.

Therefore, the sage attends to inner fullness and does not chase external sensory pleasures. The sage gives up the desire to gaze on external things and chooses to preserve inner fullness. Here, “belly” refers to inner satisfaction, while “eyes” refers to the pursuit of external things.

Chapter Thirteen: Favor and Disgrace

Receiving favor and suffering disgrace are both like being startled.

When one holds on to favor, one becomes anxious; when one loses it, one grieves. As long as favor and disgrace remain on one’s mind, both bring fear and unease.

To regard oneself as precious is like regarding a great calamity as precious.

The body is the source of calamity; to value oneself too highly is to value a great calamity. The text could have said, “To value oneself is like valuing a great calamity,” but instead it says, “To value a great calamity is like valuing oneself.” This wording explains that once the thought of cherishing oneself arises, the self itself becomes a great calamity.

Treating the body as precious is the root of misfortune. To value one’s body too highly is like treasuring a great calamity. The passage could have said, “Cherish the body as though it were a great calamity,” but instead it says, “Regard a great calamity as though it were the body.” This is to show that once a person begins to cherish the self, misfortune follows. Thus a great calamity is said to be like the body. Here, “as though” means “like.”

What are favor and disgrace? Favor itself places one in a low position. When people receive favor, they can easily become arrogant and complacent, thereby inviting misfortune. Favor, then, is the root of disgrace.

When receiving favor, be as apprehensive as when suffering disgrace; when losing favor, be just as apprehensive. This is what it means to regard both favor and disgrace as things that call for caution. Favor and disgrace can turn into one another, and favor is also the root of disgrace. Ordinary people are easily misled by their feelings: they fear disgrace but not favor. So the sage warns that when receiving favor, one should be as wary as when being humiliated. Then, if favor is lost and disgrace follows, it will be no worse than what one was already prepared to face.

What does it mean to regard a great calamity as important as oneself? This question is raised because people may not understand that the body itself is the root of calamity.

The reason I have great calamities is that I have a body. The body’s form is illusory and has no true, unchanging essence. It becomes the root of calamity because I cling to the idea that “I have this body,” and so suffer bodily pains of every kind, including pain, illness, cold, and heat.

When I no longer cling to a fixed “self” or “body,” what calamity could there be? If I understand that all things under Heaven and Earth arise from the gathering of natural Qi, and are not mine to possess; if I can let go of attachment to physical form and cleverness, recognize that the body is not a true, unchanging self, and become one with the Great Dao, what calamity could there be?

Therefore, only those who regard themselves as important as all under Heaven can be entrusted with all under Heaven; only those who cherish themselves as much as all under Heaven can be entrusted to govern it.

This chapter opens by warning people not to be moved by favor or disgrace, then uses this to show that ultimately one should let go of favor and disgrace, status and affection, and even oneself and the world. To feel alarmed when receiving favor or disgrace shows that one still cares about them. To prize high status and cherish oneself shows that one has not yet become humble enough to forget the self. If disgrace is compared with favor, disgrace will seem worse; if high status is compared with cherishing oneself, high status will seem less important. These comparisons all show that one remains attached to something. So at first, one should regard favor as though it were disgrace; in the end, one should forget both favor and disgrace. The scripture uses the more accessible phrase “entrusting the world” to explain the state of letting go completely: forget favor and disgrace, and nothing can alarm you; forget yourself, and there is no root from which calamity can arise; forget the world, and there is no longer any need to entrust it to someone else.

The phrase “seeing, yet not seeing” uses accessible language to explain the state of complete forgetting: forget favor and disgrace, and you will no longer be alarmed; forget yourself, and there will be no root of calamity; forget the world, and there will be no question of entrusting it to anyone.

What cannot be seen is called “Yi” (plain, without visible color). This explains the Dao: the Dao has no specific color, so the eyes cannot see it. Though it has no color, the Dao can manifest the forms and colors of the myriad things; therefore it is called “Yi.”

What cannot be heard is called “Xi” (a faint sound). The Dao has no specific sound, so the ears cannot hear it. Though it is soundless, the Dao can bring the myriad things into harmony in silence; therefore it is called “Xi.”

What cannot be grasped is called “Wei” (subtle, difficult to apprehend). Here, “grasp” means to hold or seize. The Dao has no fixed form, so it cannot be caught by hand; yet though it is formless, it can bring forth forms. Therefore it is called “Wei.”

These three qualities cannot be traced to their ultimate source, so they are blended together and collectively called “the One.” If one tries to pursue the Dao through sound, color, and form, it cannot ultimately be grasped; all one can say is “Yi, Xi, and Wei.” But the Dao itself is not identical with these three names, so it is also said that they are blended into one.

Above, the Dao is not bright; below, it is not dark.

Those in high positions are often clear-sighted; those in low positions are often benighted. Yet the Dao is in a high place without treating height as high, so even when it is above, it does not appear clear-sighted. It is in a low place without treating lowliness as low, so even when it is below, it does not appear benighted.

The Dao extends and moves without cease. No name can define it, and in the end it returns to the state of nothingness.

“Continuous and unbroken” means that its movement carries on without interruption. The Dao neither shines brightly nor grows dim; its workings have no end. It gives rise to the myriad things, yet cannot be described by any specific name. It makes the myriad things what they are, while not existing as any particular thing itself. Thus the Dao continually gives rise to the myriad things, yet never becomes a particular object. Its subtle source is still and far-reaching; that is why it is said to “return to nothingness.”

This is called “the shape without shape, the image without any concrete form.” It is also called “the elusive”—a state that is indistinct and difficult to grasp.

The Dao can continually give rise to the myriad things, yet never becomes a particular object. Its subtle source is still and far-reaching; that is why it is said to “return to nothingness.”

This is called “the shape without shape, the image without any concrete form.” It is also called “the elusive”—a state that is indistinct and difficult to grasp.

The Dao has no shape and no concrete material image. It cannot be said to exist, nor can it be said not to exist. This state, neither existence nor nonexistence, is difficult to name, so it is called “the elusive.”

Look toward the Dao, and you cannot see its beginning; follow it, and you cannot see its end.

Because the Dao has no beginning, looking toward it reveals no starting point. Because it has no end, following it reveals no terminus.

Grasp the Dao that has existed since ancient times and use it to govern the affairs of the present.

Master the ancient, Wuwei Dao and use it to handle the active affairs of the present; then things can return to their natural simplicity.

To know the beginnings of the Dao from ancient times and the principles by which it moves and transforms is to grasp the guiding order of the Dao’s transformations.

Chapter Fifteen: Those Skilled in the Dao in Ancient Times

In ancient times, those skilled at making the Dao their guide in cultivation and conduct were subtle and far-reaching, and so well versed in the mystery that they were difficult to fathom.

Here, “scholar” means “one who acts according to a certain principle.” Those in ancient times who were skilled at taking the Dao as their guide could deeply discern and fully comprehend subtle teachings and the Great Dao. Their De was profound and remote, and difficult for others to understand.

Because they were so difficult to fathom, one can only attempt to describe what they were like.

Their De and bearing were beyond measure, so one can only attempt to describe their outward qualities—that is, the qualities discussed below.

Those skilled in embodying the Dao remain in the world without being entangled by worldly ways. They are as cautious as someone crossing a river in winter. While others cling to worldly things, they remain untainted and so are calm and at ease.

They are also wary and hesitant, as though among neighboring states. The passage first says they are untouched by the world and therefore at ease; yet in their conduct they often seem hesitant and cautious, like someone living between neighboring countries and always on guard.

They are solemn as a guest, never acting rashly. Yet they are open and unimpeded, like spring ice on the verge of melting, with nothing outside themselves holding them back.

They are simple and solid, like uncarved wood; openhearted as a broad valley; mingled with the world and keeping their light concealed, they seem murky.

Who can let murky waters settle and slowly grow clear? Who can remain still for a long time, then gently stir and bring forth growth?

To keep to this Dao, do not cling to fullness. If you fixate on purity and stillness or pursue what is called growth, you will instead become overfull and lose this Dao. It is precisely by not seeking fullness that you can diminish without becoming complacent, and receive something new without clinging to it.

Reach the utmost of emptiness, and hold firmly to stillness.

“Utmost emptiness” is the root of mystery. At birth, all people receive this wondrous root of utmost emptiness. Once they take on physical form and begin to receive things from outside, however, this wondrous root gradually dissipates. To restore it fully within yourself, you should cut off the contamination and entanglements of worldly things and hold firmly to gentleness and stillness. Then the Way of utmost emptiness will naturally return to you.

All things flourish and grow; from this I observe how they return.

The Old Master said: Why does holding to gentleness and stillness enable one to reach the utmost of emptiness? Simply observe the activity and changes of all things: in the end, they always return to stillness. From this, the reason becomes clear.

All things flourish and grow, yet in the end each returns to its root.

Again, why do we know that when all things return, they always settle into stillness? Though the branches and leaves of plants may grow luxuriantly, their nature of life ultimately returns to the root. “Activity” means coming forth and moving. All things bustle with activity, yet what they ultimately return to is their root.

Returning to the root is called stillness; stillness is returning to the nature of life.

When plants with flourishing branches and leaves return to their roots, they settle into stillness. If a person can return to the root and attain utmost stillness, that person may be said to have returned to the nature and life received at birth.

Returning to one’s nature is called constancy; knowing constancy is called clarity.

By holding to stillness and returning to one’s nature, one may be said to have grasped what is constant. Those who understand how to hold to constancy will see with greater clarity.

Not knowing constancy, reckless action brings danger.

If you cannot steadfastly maintain your De, you may suffer humiliation. If you lose constancy and act recklessly, you will inevitably fall into danger.

Knowing constancy, the heart can become all-embracing.

Those who understand how to hold to true constancy have a mind that is empty and still, like a broad valley, able to receive all things.

Only by being able to embrace all things can one be impartial.

Embracing all things and responding to them without selfish intent: when there are no partial or harmful thoughts, impartiality follows naturally.

Only through impartiality can one become a ruler.

When a ruler is impartial, all things will turn toward him.

A ruler whose De accords with Heaven covers all things as Heaven does, and so accords with Heaven’s De.

Only when a ruler’s De is like Heaven’s can he put the Great Dao into practice.

When the Great Dao is carried out, the state can enjoy its blessings for a long time.

One who follows the Dao together with Heaven will remain free from danger throughout life.

Chapter Seventeen: The Highest

“The highest” refers to rulers of the ancient, simple age. “Those below know that he exists” means that the people know only that they have such a ruler.

The best ruler follows the Dao of Heaven. Though as exalted as Heaven, he leaves no trace of teaching or forceful action. Thus, although the people are governed by him, they feel no special debt to him and do not go out of their way to praise him.

A ruler of the next rank is loved and praised by the people. When De has declined, the ruler teaches the people with good words. He is loved for displaying benevolence and praised for making his achievements conspicuous.

A ruler of the rank below that is feared and treated with contempt by the people. As the ruler’s De declines further, misgovernment increases and the people can no longer endure it, so the ruler drives them with punishments, and they fear him. The ruler distrusts the people and deceives them in turn; unable to see the truth clearly, he is treated with contempt.

When a ruler lacks trustworthiness, some among his subjects will not trust him.

The people love and praise a ruler because he governs through De and instructive words. They value what he says, and so they love and praise him.

When matters are settled and achievements completed, the people say, “We did this naturally, of our own accord.” The ruler claims no credit and makes no deliberate show of action. The people are governed by him in their daily lives without realizing it, and believe that everything came about naturally. This is the state described by “the highest: those below know that he exists.”

Chapter Eighteen: When the Great Dao Is Abandoned

Only after the Great Dao is abandoned do benevolence and righteousness appear.

As social customs grew increasingly shallow, the naturally honest and simple nature gradually faded, and the Great Dao could no longer be followed. When people began to proclaim benevolence and righteousness, this showed that these qualities no longer appeared of themselves. To follow nature and bring all things to fulfillment is the highest form of governance: the people know that such a ruler exists, yet do not feel interfered with.

Chapter Eighteen: When the Great Dao Is Abandoned

When the Great Dao declines, the names of benevolence and righteousness arise.

As social customs grew increasingly shallow and natural honesty and simplicity faded, the Great Dao could no longer be followed. People then proclaimed benevolence and righteousness, pursuing small achievements. It is like bubbles moistening one another and struggling to stay afloat because they lack what they need; hardship and decline arise because there is too much contrivance. Thus the sage’s concern to set the world right remains the same, though circumstances may be easy or difficult, and the methods used cannot be exactly alike.

When cleverness becomes conspicuous, hypocrisy flourishes.

Those who rely on schemes often establish laws and regulations. Once these are issued, wrongdoing arises alongside them, and widespread deception follows. Some people can even steal tallies and seals—is this not proof of the point? In ancient times, tallies and seals served as credentials for establishing identity and transmitting commands.

When the six family relationships are discordant, the names of filial piety and parental care become visible.

Father and son, husband and wife, and brothers together make up the six family relationships. When the proper order of closeness and distance among them is lost, they are discordant. When people each show love for their own parents and care for their own children, the names of filial piety and parental care become visible. These are all partial names that arise only after the Great Dao has been lost.

When a state falls into disorder, loyal ministers become visible.

When the world is at peace, those above and below live in harmony, each in their proper place. Why, then, would anyone need to single out loyal ministers? Only when a state falls into disorder do people who face danger and give their lives for others become visible as loyal ministers.

Chapter Nineteen: Abandon Sageliness and Discard Wisdom

Set aside the traces left by the teachings of sages and abandon the use of schemes and deception, and the people will gain a hundredfold.

No longer clinging to the forms of the sages’ teachings, one can follow Wuwei (non-action) and allow people to be transformed naturally. When worldly cleverness and deceit are no longer used, people’s hearts return to natural honesty and simplicity. With hearts that are simple and sincere, cunning and falsehood do not arise; when people follow Wuwei, boasting and contention do not prevail. People preserve their natural harmony, and the myriad things suffer no harm from human contrivance. This is a hundredfold benefit.

Set aside the proclamations of benevolence and righteousness, and the people can recover filial piety and parental care.

Abandon benevolence understood as universal love, and let go of righteousness that judges right and wrong; people will return to the roots of filial piety and parental care.

Set aside clever devices and abandon the pursuit of profit, and thieves will not appear.

When people flaunt unusual skills, they readily develop a desire to compete for profit. Thus, when clever devices are set aside, people stop contending; when attachment to profit is abandoned, people learn to be content. Those who know contentment will not become thieves.

These three sayings are not fully understood if taken merely as turns of phrase. They must have something to return to and be grounded in fundamental principle.

The preceding passage says: “Only telling people what to renounce, without explaining how to cultivate themselves, means the text is inadequate to serve as a guide for instruction. Something must also be added to show where the heart should turn; that is what the following passage provides.” This means that simply telling people to cut off and abandon certain things does not yet explain the method of cultivation, so such words are insufficient as instruction. The text must also show where the heart should turn, and that is what follows.

See the plain; hold fast to the uncarved. Reduce selfishness and lessen desire.

See and recognize what is pure and unadorned; hold fast to a nature that is sincere and simple. Reduce selfish thoughts and restrain desire.

“These three” merely tell people to cut off and abandon things, without explaining how to cultivate themselves. The text is therefore considered insufficient to serve as a guide for instruction. Something must also be added to show where the heart should turn; that is what follows.

See the plain; hold fast to the uncarved. Reduce selfishness and lessen desire.

See and recognize what is pure and unadorned; hold fast to a nature that is sincere and simple. Reduce selfish thoughts and harmful notions, and restrain greed.

End of Volume One of The Imperial Commentary on the Dao De Jing by Emperor Xuanzong of Tang.

Volume Two of The Imperial Commentary on the Dao De Jing by Emperor Xuanzong of Tang

Lower Section of the Dao Jing

Chapter Twenty: Cut Off Learning, and Be Free of Worry

Cut off worldly learning, and there will be no trouble.

Cut off worldly learning that pursues deliberate action, and one’s simple nature will not be lost. Reduce selfishness and restrain desire, and there will be no trouble.

How much difference is there between “wei” and “a”? How far apart are “good” and “evil”?

“Wei” is a respectful reply; “a” is a dismissive one. Both come from a person’s mouth, so how much difference is there between them? A respectful reply is good; a dismissive reply is evil. Here they serve as metaphors for worldly learning: cut it off, and there will be no trouble; fail to cut it off, and calamity will arise. It all depends on whether the heart can turn back and examine itself. How far apart can the two really be?

What people fear cannot go unfelt.

Ordinary people fear dismissiveness and evil conduct; those of De fear worldly learning and deliberate action. All of these must be cut off, so they cannot help but remain alert to them.

How vast and unbounded it is, as if it had no end.

If people do not remain alert to worldly learning and cut it off, the upright nature of living beings will continue to waste away, seemingly without end.

Everyone is delighted, as though attending a splendid feast or climbing a terrace in spring.

People are absorbed in worldly learning and deliberate action, pursuing external things with eager excitement, as though attending a lavish sacrificial feast or looking forward to climbing a terrace in spring. This is why they readily give rise to desire.

Alone, I am calm and inactive; my passions have yet to appear, like an infant who cannot yet laugh.

I alone remain at peace and stillness, with not the slightest trace of passion showing, like an infant who cannot yet laugh or play.

Drifting with the current, as if I had no place to return to.

Those who have attained the Dao have no selfish intentions. Their actions change with the changes in things; they neither deliberately take nor give. They are like travelers with no fixed destination. “Moving along, moving along” describes ceaseless action, coming and going.

Everyone seems to have no destination.

People always feel they possess more than enough. They become absorbed in worldly affairs, show off their cleverness and intelligence, and believe themselves wealthy and well supplied—then display it all for others to admire.

Only I seem to be lacking. I often appear inadequate, as though I had forgotten something.

Could my mind really be like that of a fool? It is so simple and unadorned! How could I truly be a fool? My mind is simply unadorned, so I seem to have forgotten something.

People in the world appear perceptive and clever because they show off their skill and intelligence. Only I seem dull, because I draw in my sharpness and do not display myself.

People in the world scrutinize everything and establish all sorts of laws and regulations. Only I am tolerant and still. I appear suddenly obscure; my inner self is quiet, far from worldly learning, as though I had no attachments or fixed destination.

Everyone thinks they have something to rely on and acts according to worldly understanding. Only I seem slow and uncultivated. “Stubborn” means making no distinctions; “uncultivated” means appearing shallow and inadequate. Inwardly, I understand clearly; I only appear inadequate on the outside.

I differ from everyone else: they are caught up in desire and attachment, while I am untouched by these entanglements. They turn away from the Dao, while I am in harmony with it. What I cherish is drawing sustenance from the Mother of the Dao.

Those with great De (Virtue/Power) act only in accordance with the Dao (the Way).

“Great De” here means profound De, and “follow” means to act in accordance with. If we ask what a person of great De is like, the answer is that such a person acts only in accord with the Dao, which is empty, still, and profound.

The Dao seems to exist and yet not to exist; it is hard to grasp.

This further explains the Dao followed by a person of great De: it cannot be said to truly exist, nor can it be said to be entirely absent. Its workings are profound and beyond words, so it is called “elusive and indistinct.”

Amid this elusiveness and indistinctness, all kinds of forms appear.

“Indistinct” refers to nonbeing, while “elusive” refers to being. When signs emerge, they are called “forms.” All things arise from nonbeing; as their first signs appear, so too do their various forms.

Amid what seems to exist and yet not to exist, all things are contained.

Here, “things” refers to the Dao described above. All things return from being to nonbeing, and thereby return to the Dao; hence it is said that all things are contained within it.

Amid profound obscurity, subtle Qi (vital energy) is stored.

The Dao lies between elusiveness and indistinctness, between being and nonbeing, profound and obscure, beyond our ability to fathom. Yet the subtle power through which it generates all things truly exists.

This subtle Qi is real and not illusory; within it are signs that can be trusted.

The subtle Qi of profound obscurity truly exists, and within it are signs that can be verified.

The substance of the Dao is elusive and hard to discern, so deep that it cannot be fathomed. Yet its work of bringing forth the myriad things is subtle and truly present.

The Dao’s subtle reality contains within itself trustworthy signs.

The Dao’s deep, formless purity is free from falsehood and disorder. The myriad things respond to it, and it always answers; its workings never go astray. That is why it is said, “There is trust within it.”

From ancient times to the present, the name of the Dao has never vanished.

The Dao has brought forth the myriad things from ancient times to the present. They depend on its workings to come into being, and people have named the Dao on the basis of these workings. Since its work of bringing forth the myriad things is the same in every age, its name has been passed down without end.

Through this, the Dao examines the origin of the myriad things.

“Yue” means to examine; “fu” means origin. This passage says that the Dao acts by examining the origins of the myriad things, allowing each to grow and develop in accordance with the way it came into being.

How do I know that the origin of the myriad things is like this? By this principle.

All things receive the Dao and come into being through its subtle workings. That is how I know.

Yielding can preserve wholeness

By yielding to things and adapting to them, one can preserve oneself.

Accepting a setback can bring advancement

By humbling oneself and helping others succeed, one can in turn bring the right principle to fulfillment.

Taking the lower position can bring fullness

By keeping to the virtue of humility, one’s inner life can remain full.

The worn can be renewed

By being content with simplicity and keeping to an unassuming state, one can instead be continually renewed.

Taking little can bring gain

By holding to the single, undivided Dao without departing from it, one will not lose anything.

Grasping at much can bring confusion

When one pursues too many ways of acting and meddles everywhere, one becomes confused.

Therefore, the sage holds fast to the single, undivided Dao and makes it the standard for all under Heaven.

Not displaying oneself, one becomes clear

When people do not flaunt their virtue and are often willing to yield in dealing with matters, their virtue becomes whole and shines forth naturally.

Not insisting one is right, one becomes evident

When people do not assume they are always right and are willing to humble themselves so that others may succeed, what is right becomes evident of its own accord.

Not boasting of oneself, one earns merit

When people do not boast or compete for credit, merit instead comes to them.

Not exalting oneself, one endures

When people remain simple over the long term and do not show off, others are glad to recognize their strengths.

One who truly does not contend finds that no one under Heaven can contend with him.

If he does not compete with external things, who could contend with him? This means that no one under Heaven, whether worthy or unworthy, can contend with one who does not contend.

Could the ancient saying, “Yield, and you will be preserved,” really be empty words? Indeed, those who know how to yield will ultimately be preserved.

The ancient saying, “Yield, and you will be preserved”—how could this be false? One who knows how to yield in handling things can ultimately preserve what is right and bring matters back to the proper course.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Speaking Sparingly Is Natural

Speaking sparingly accords with nature.

“Speaking sparingly” means letting go of words. The text does not simply say “forget words,” because people need words to explain principles and cannot discard language entirely. Once one has understood the Dao, one can forget words; hence the phrase “speaking sparingly.” If one can use words to understand the principles without becoming attached to them, one accords with the natural course of the Dao.

A gale cannot last through the morning; a downpour cannot last through the day.

Gales and downpours arrive with great force and suddenly harm all things. Likewise, when someone clings to words in explaining principles, they can depart from the Dao and lead others into confusion.

What makes the wind and rain like this? Heaven and Earth. Even Heaven and Earth cannot make such violence last for long. How much less can a person do so?

Heaven and Earth are vast, yet if they act with force and haste, they harm all things and cannot sustain that state for long. The same applies to people: if they cling to words and teachings, they damage their understanding of the Dao. How, then, could they truly understand it?

Therefore, those who cultivate the Dao should not cling to words and teachings.

One who has realized the Dao can understand it without attachment to words, and so becomes one with the Dao.

“De” is the name for the Dao in its operation. If a person embodies the Dao without clinging to achievements, their actions accord with the Dao’s operation.

One who has lost the Dao accords with having lost the Dao.

Clinging to words and phrases and becoming bound by teachings makes it impossible to grasp their meaning. Without understanding, one loses the Great Dao, and the result is no different from having lost the Way.

Those who accord with the Dao are welcomed by the Dao. Those who accord with De are welcomed by De. Those who accord with having lost the Way are followed by that loss.

A fangzhu, a vessel for drawing water, can bring forth water; a yangsui, a device for kindling fire, can bring forth fire. By distinguishing things according to their kind, one can determine the outcome.

When trust is insufficient, distrust arises.

Clinging to words and phrases and becoming bound by teachings without understanding them is a failure of trust. When one accords with having lost the Way, that loss readily follows; this is a failure to trust the Dao.

Chapter 24: Those Who Rise on Tiptoe Do Not Stand Firm

Those who rise on tiptoe cannot stand steadily; those who stride too far cannot walk far.

“Rising on tiptoe” means lifting one’s heels to peer into the distance; “striding” means taking an exaggerated step. Here, these images describe people who think they already see clearly and are eager to attain understanding. In the end, they cannot truly understand—just as one cannot stand for long on tiptoe or walk steadily with an overlarge stride.

Those who think they see clearly cannot see with insight.

Displaying one’s talents and boasting of oneself exposes one’s shortcomings in action, and so one cannot see with insight.

Those who think they are right cannot make themselves shine.

Believing oneself right and others wrong only invites resentment, and so one cannot make oneself shine.

Those who boast of themselves have no merit.

Persistently insisting on one’s achievements and demanding rewards earns no recognition from others, and so brings no merit.

Those who are conceited about themselves cannot endure.

Showing off one’s conduct and abilities leads others to look down on one, and so one cannot endure.

From the perspective of the Dao, these behaviors are like leftover food and excess growths. People may well find them repugnant, so those who have the Dao do not engage in them.

Chapter 25: There Was Something Formed in Wholeness

There was a being formed in wholeness, arising before Heaven and Earth came into existence.

This passage explains the origin of the name “Dao,” and so it says, “There was something.” This being took shape as a whole, embracing and nurturing the myriad things. If we trace its coming into being and transformations, it existed long before Heaven and Earth.

How deep and still it is, how vast and far-reaching! It exists independently and never changes. Its movement reaches everywhere and never falters; it can serve as the root of all things under Heaven.

The hidden, unfathomable substance of all things has existed since before Heaven and Earth took shape.

How deep and still it is, how vast and far-reaching! It exists independently and never changes. Its movement reaches everywhere and is never imperiled. All things rely on it to come into being and receive its grace as it nourishes them. Thus it can serve as the root of all things under Heaven.

I do not know what it is called, so I call it “Dao.” If pressed to give it a name, I call it “Great.”

I see that all things are born from it, yet I do not know its proper name. So I use the word “Dao” to make clear how it permeates all things and enables them to grow, and the name “Great” to convey the substance that encompasses them all.

“Great” means moving without end. Moving without end leads far away; reaching far away, it returns.

The wondrous workings of the Dao have no fixed place, and no name given to it by force can fully describe it. If we seek it through “Greatness,” we find that it moves without end. If we follow its movement in search of it, it seems distant and beyond our reach. But if we grasp the Dao, we know that it can in fact be experienced and verified within our own body and mind.

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

Each is described in terms of the greatness proper to it: those who have attained the Dao and can accord with it are Heaven, Earth, and the king. Heaven is great because it can cover all things; Earth is great because it can bear all things. The king is great because he can take Earth as his model, take Heaven as his guide, and follow the Dao in his conduct. Hence the king, too, is called great.

Between Heaven and Earth, there are four great powers, and the king is one of them.

The king is the ruler of the people, and the rise and decline of all things are closely bound to him. Emphasizing that the king is one of the Four Greats is meant to remind him that he must take a model. What follows explains the way of taking a model.

Humanity takes Earth as its model; Earth takes Heaven as its model. Between Heaven and Earth, there are four great powers, and the king is one of them.

The king is the ruler of the people, and the rise and decline of all things are closely bound to him. Emphasizing that the king is one of the Four Greats is meant to remind him that he must take a model. What follows explains the way of taking a model.

Humanity takes Earth as its model, Earth takes Heaven as its model, Heaven takes the Dao as its model, and the Dao follows what is natural.

People believe that a ruler governing the people should first model himself on the earth’s stillness and solidity; then on the heavens, which move and transform, nurturing the myriad things; and, further still, on the Dao’s clarity, stillness, and Wuwei (non-action), allowing the myriad things to grow and change naturally. If a ruler can act in this way, he accords with the natural character embodied in the Dao.

Chapter 26: Solidity Is the Root of Lightness

Steadiness is the root of rashness; stillness is the master of agitation.

Solidity restrains what is frivolous, so it is called the root. Stillness settles what is agitated, so it is called the master.

Thus, the noble person travels all day without leaving the baggage cart behind. “Baggage” refers to the cart, and “load” to the things carried on it. Those who are rash and agitated should value steadiness and stillness all the more, just as travelers must keep their baggage cart with them. Lose the baggage and one may suffer hunger and cold; delight in rashness and agitation, and disorder may follow.

Even amid the splendor of palaces and fine landscapes, one should dwell at ease and remain composed.

A ruler should hold fast to steadiness and stillness. Thus, even surrounded by splendor, he should dwell at ease and not be swayed by external things.

Alas, how can one who rules all under Heaven act rashly and make light of himself?

“How can” expresses lament. “All under Heaven” refers to the ruler’s weighty position of authority. The saying means: how can a ruler indulge his desires and act rashly, thereby losing his position?

Rashness leads to losing one’s ministers; agitation leads to losing one’s throne.

When a ruler is rash and fickle, people’s hearts become divided, and he loses his ministers. When a minister is agitated and makes reckless demands, the ruler will no longer value him, and he loses the ruler’s trust.

Chapter 27: Skillful Conduct

One skilled at walking leaves no trace of wheels.

One who perceives the true nature of things in their various workings acts without clinging to the outward signs of “action”; this is called “skillful conduct.” In this way, the mind accords with the Dao and leaves no wheel tracks to follow.

One skilled at speaking makes no mistakes or errors.

One who grasps the intent of instruction does not cling to the literal wording. He lets go of particular words and understands their meaning. Once the principle is understood, he no longer clings to words, and so his speech is free of mistakes and errors.

One skilled at planning need not use counting rods.

The underlying principle of all things is originally without distinction. If you use one and the same principle to understand them all, without giving rise to divergent views, you need not labor over calculations; clarity and understanding will come naturally. Since this understanding does not depend on calculation or inference, is that not good?

One skilled at closing a door needs no bolt, yet no one can open it. One skilled at tying a knot needs no rope, yet no one can undo it.

This means forgetting the distinctions between words and actions and not entering into divergent teachings. The mind is not confused by the boundaries of external things, and the external world does not stir its thoughts. In this way, even without a bolt, how could the door be opened? Is this not good?

Realizing one’s true nature calls for emptiness, stillness, and freedom from attachment. When the mind is empty, still, and unattached, it accords with the Dao (the Way). Even without a rope to bind it, how could it come undone?

Thus, the sage is always skilled at helping people, so no one is abandoned. The sage is also always skilled at dealing with things, so nothing is discarded.

The sage uses these five good practices to teach people, and so no person or thing is cast aside. This is called “Hiding the Light” (Ximing): putting it quietly into practice and thereby attaining insight. “Hiding” means using something unseen. The five good practices lie in forgetting and letting go of attachment, leaving no trace; that is why they are called “hidden practice.” Hidden practice leads to insight into the Dao and its principles, and so it is called “light.”

The good person is the teacher of the person who is not good; the person who is not good is a resource for the good person. Here, “teacher” means someone to emulate, and “resource” means something to learn from: the good person is worthy of study, while the person who is not good can also serve as a lesson for the good person.

Not honoring the teacher and not cherishing the resource reflects this chapter’s deeper teaching: to forget all distinctions. If the mind still clings to teachers and resources, it has not reached the ultimate. To regard a teacher as worthy of honor is to retain the distinction of learning in the mind. Once you understand that this distinction, too, is empty, there is nothing left to honor. To regard a resource as worthy of cherishing is to retain the distinction of teaching and transforming in the mind. When even the thought of “teaching and transforming” is let go, there is nothing left to cherish. When neither honor nor affection is clung to, the Dao can naturally nurture and transform all things.

Therefore, the wise may appear confused. This is called the subtle mystery of the Dao.

When teacher and disciple can forget the roles and distinctions between them, this is called “Mysterious De” (profound and natural Virtue). Ordinary people do not understand this. They instead consider it deeply bewildering. So the sage says that although the world sees it as bewildering, from the perspective of the Dao (the Way), this is precisely what is subtle and wondrous.

Chapter 28: Knowing the Masculine

Know the masculine, yet keep to the feminine, and you can become the valley of the world. As the valley of the world, constant De will never leave you, and you will return to the natural simplicity of an infant.

Strength and competitiveness make it easy to become attached to displaying one’s power. So, once you know what strength can do, you should all the more keep to gentleness and humility. Treat things with modesty, and all things will be like streams flowing into a valley. In this way, constant and authentic De can remain within you: your heart will contain the Dao and a harmonious Qi, and your conduct will return to the infant’s natural simplicity and freedom from contention.

Know what is bright, yet keep to what is dark, and you can become a model for the world. As a model for the world, constant De will not go astray, and you will return to the limitless, the state without boundaries or end.

By keeping to gentleness and stillness, you can continually return to the state of an infant. Though your De is evident, you can still remain modest and refrain from displaying yourself; then you can become a model for the world. The use of De will never err, and its effects will have no end. Thus you return to the limitless. “Error” here means going astray.

Know what is honored, yet keep to what is lowly and humiliated, and you can become the valley of the world. As the valley of the world, constant De will be full and complete, and you will return to the “uncarved block”—the natural state before carving, which also refers to the Dao.

Even when De brings honor and glory, remain humble and lowly. When things respond to what they encounter, they can answer like a valley echoing a sound. Because it is receptive and open, its effects have no end. Constant De is thereby made full and complete, and ultimately returns to the Dao.

When the “uncarved block” is divided, it forms the various particular things. When the sage makes use of it, the sage can become the leader of all.

When inner De contains a complete harmony, it returns to the uncarved block. Once constant De is put to use, it differentiates into various particular things. As these take concrete form, distinctions arise between what is fine and what is coarse. The sage uses these things and thereby becomes the leader of all.

Therefore, the greatest making does not cut things apart.

The sage governs all beings through the Great Dao, with the gentleness of spring. All things are nourished without expectation of reward; animals and plants grow freely and suffer no harm.

Chapter 29: “When One Seeks to Take the World”

If someone seeks to take the world and govern it according to his own will, I do not think he will succeed.

The world’s throne is the most precious of positions. One who possesses the Dao must wait until Heaven’s mandate and the cycles of time have come to rest with him before ascending the throne. If someone acts with violence and disorder, seeking to seize the world by force and become its ruler, the Old Master warns: I do not think he will prevail.

The world is a sacred vessel, and it cannot be governed arbitrarily by force. To force one’s will upon it is to fail.

The throne is a vessel entrusted by Heaven, Earth, and the spirits, and so it is called a “sacred vessel.” It cannot be seized by force. Thus, anyone who tries to take it by force is bound to fail. This is a warning to disloyal and rebellious ministers.

If someone has already gained the throne but clings to it, oppresses the ruler, and indulges in tyranny, the Way of Heaven will bring calamity upon the wicked and cause him to lose his throne. This is a warning to emperors and kings.

Among the things of the world, some go ahead and others follow; some bring warmth and others cold; some are supported and grow strong, while others are held back and decline. One who has the Dao can bring things to completion; one without De brings them to ruin.

For this reason, the sage puts aside excess, extravagance, and arrogance.

Seeing how all things move between leading and following, strength and decline, the sage understands that those who insist on possessing things will ultimately lose them. So the sage puts aside every excessive act.

Chapter 30: “Using the Dao to Assist the Ruler”

Those who assist the ruler through the Dao do not use military force to dominate the world, for this is likely to invite retaliation.

If a minister can assist the ruler through the Dao, he should win people’s trust through De, rather than compete for dominance throughout the world by wielding the power of arms. Why? Weapons are inauspicious instruments, and warfare is dangerous. Once the two sides engage in battle, the other side will surely strike back. Since war so readily invites retaliation, its outcome is impossible to predict.

Where armies are stationed, brambles and thorns grow; after a great war, years of famine are sure to follow.

The presence of armies and the fighting they bring disrupt farming and prevent the land from being cultivated properly, so it becomes overgrown with brambles and thorns. The baleful force of war also invites floods and droughts in succession. First the fields are left untended; then disasters follow, inevitably bringing years of famine.

Therefore, those skilled in the use of arms seek only to bring war to an end. They do not dare use it to show off their strength. After winning, they do not boast of their achievements, flaunt their military power, or grow arrogant and complacent.

Those skilled in assisting a ruler aim to put a stop to enemy incursions. Their priority is to bring peace to the people and harmony among them. They do not dare pursue victory at all costs or indulge in displays of strength. Thus, even after successfully halting an enemy army, they ensure that the enemy does not return to cause trouble. They must be cautious: they should not boast of their achievements, flaunt their military power, or grow arrogant and complacent in victory. Arrogance leads to defeat and ruin, so it must be taken as a profound warning.

Victory is a last resort; it is not a chance to show off one’s strength.

When an enemy invades, its incursions cannot be allowed to continue, so arms are used to stop them. This is a response to the enemy’s attack, not an attempt to display strength or win for its own sake.

When things reach the height of their strength, they begin to grow old. This is called going against the Dao (the Way). Things that go against the Dao soon perish.

When things reach their prime, they decline. An army that relies on force will ultimately be defeated. This goes against the Dao; one should stop early and refrain from showing off strength.

Chapter 31: Esteeming Weapons

Weapons are objects of ill omen, though people may esteem them; all things may loathe them. Therefore, a person who has the Dao does not place themselves in such a position.

“Esteemed” means good or worthy of admiration. Here, “arms” refers to weapons and the strategies of warfare. A person should cultivate their words and establish trust, taking morality as their foundation. To regard military strategy as a skill worthy of esteem is to depart from the Dao. Its purpose is to conquer and kill, so it is an instrument of harm. If even all things may loathe it, a person who has the Dao will naturally avoid putting themselves in such a position.

In ordinary affairs, the gentleman honors the left; in military matters, he honors the right.

The left belongs to Yang. Yang energy flows in harmony, allowing all things to grow, so the left is honored in everyday life. The right belongs to Yin. Yin energy gathers and settles, bringing the withering of all things, so the right is honored in military affairs.

Weapons are inauspicious instruments.

“Propitious” also means good. Those who delight in warfare honor killing, so weapons are instruments of ill.

They are not instruments that the gentleman esteems.

The gentleman takes moral virtue as the foundation for how he conducts himself and acts; he does not esteem military tactics and stratagems.

Force should be used only when there is no other choice, and then a calm, detached attitude is best.

The Yi and Di—ancient names for peoples on the borders—invaded, so force had to be used. Those skilled at winning do not struggle to prove their strength or claim victory; that is why calm detachment is best.

Weapons are instruments of ill, not things the gentleman esteems. The gentleman takes moral virtue as his foundation and does not esteem military tactics and stratagems. Force is used only when there is no other choice, and calm detachment is best. When the Yi and Di invade, force must be used; to win skillfully without contending for victory is precisely an expression of calm detachment.

Even when victorious, one should not regard victory as something worthy of praise. Those who celebrate victory take delight in killing. Anyone who takes delight in killing cannot realize their aims under Heaven.

After defeating the enemy, one should grieve for those on the other side, and so should not celebrate victory. Victory often comes with heavy loss of life; to treat it as something glorious is to delight in the killing of many people. Those who take pleasure in killing will not win the support of the people. How could they hope to achieve their aims?

For celebrations, the left is honored; for funerals, the right is honored. The deputy general stands on the left, and the senior general on the right.

The deputy general is lower in rank yet stands on the left, signifying that he is not the one who takes charge of killing. The senior general, higher in rank, stands on the right and directs military affairs and planning.

This means that war is treated according to the rites of mourning.

Funerals honor the right. The senior general’s place on the right follows the arrangement used in funeral rites.

When many people have been killed, one should grieve and weep.

Life is precious, yet people are killed in battle. Because we feel compassion, we should grieve and weep.

After victory in war, the matter should still be treated according to the rites of mourning.

Those who are brave and strong go into battle and win. After victory, they are granted noble titles and take the place of honor on the right. Yet honoring the right is not auspicious, so victory should be treated according to the rites for mourning. War is, after all, an inauspicious undertaking—why insist on using mourning dress as proof of this?

Chapter 32: The Dao Is Ever Nameless

The Dao is ever nameless.

The Dao’s constant way is to respond in accordance with the myriad things. It responds to them without fail, but not always in the same way. Thus, though the Dao is ever at work, it has no fixed name.

The uncarved “Block”—the Dao in its natural, unworked state—may seem insignificant, yet nothing under Heaven dares treat it as a subject to be ruled.

The Block is the root of subtlety. It is pure and undivided, which is why it is called small. But when it acts and brings the myriad things to completion, its power is vast. Thus no one dares treat the Dao as a subject.

If the lords and kings could hold fast to the Dao, the myriad things would naturally come to serve them.

If the lords and kings could hold fast to the Dao’s purity and undividedness, refraining from contrived action and allowing all under Heaven to transform of itself, the myriad things would willingly come to serve them.

When Heaven and Earth join, sweet dew descends. No one commands it, yet it naturally moistens the myriad things evenly.

If the lords and kings could preserve purity and undividedness, they could bring peace to Heaven and Earth and harmony to Yin and Yang. Then sweet dew would descend. As it fell, both weeds and orchids would be nourished. Without further instruction, the myriad things would each receive its share. Sweet dew is used here as a metaphor: if the lords and kings hold fast to the Dao, they can treat all things fairly and extend their grace to all.

When systems are established and named things are governed, once distinctions have been set,

A ruler can govern the many named and recognizable things under Heaven only by ruling in accordance with the Dao. These things therefore all fall under the governance of the lords and kings. Here, “already” means “entirely” or “all.”

one must know when to stop. Knowing when to stop keeps one from danger.

Once the lords and kings can govern the named things, those things will know to turn toward them. Knowing to return to a ruler who possesses the Dao keeps them from danger.

The Dao’s movement through the world is like streams and valleys flowing into rivers and seas.

The text uses rivers and seas as a metaphor: streams and valleys ultimately flow into rivers and seas, showing that the myriad things under Heaven, too, naturally turn toward those who possess the Dao.

To understand others is to be wise; to know oneself is to be truly clear-sighted. Wisdom helps us understand things, but there is always something it cannot grasp. Clarity, by contrast, allows us to see things in their full breadth and notice what is subtle.

To overcome others is merely to have strength. To restrain one’s own mind, keeping it gentle and humble, is to be truly strong.

One who knows contentment and no longer grasps for more may be called rich. One who strives to put the Way into practice without growing weary may be called resolute. By being content and continuing to make an effort, one can also keep hold of one’s roots and follow the Way for a long time.

The death of the body marks the end of life’s course; an untimely, violent death is a premature end. Human life has its limits. If one knows contentment, avoids reckless action, and follows the constant principles of Heaven, then even when the body dies, one has not truly perished. To complete one’s life in this way may be called longevity.

The Great Dao is vast and boundless. It flows and moves everywhere, responding in every direction.

All things depend on the Great Dao for their existence, yet it does not refuse them or claim credit for what it does. When the work of bringing all things to growth and maturity is complete, the Dao does not call the achievement its own.

The Great Dao cherishes and nurtures all things, yet does not rule over them. It never seeks to possess them, so it may be called small in appearance.

All things grow and change through “use of emptiness”—the action of what is void, still, and formless. The Dao works tirelessly. Its power brings all things to completion, yet it does not claim the credit as its own.

The Dao cares for and nurtures all things, but does not rule over them. It is always free of desire, and so may be called “small.”

The Dao cares for and nurtures all kinds of things, but does not rule over them. It has no desire to possess the myriad things, and so may be called “small”—though this “small” is not small in the ordinary sense.

All things return to the Dao, yet the Dao does not rule over them; in this way, it may also be called “great.”

The Dao cares for and nurtures all things, so they all return to it. Though the myriad things differ, the Dao does not rule over them, and so may be called “great.” The Dao cannot simply be called small or great, and is therefore difficult to name.

For this reason, the sage never considers himself great, and so is able to accomplish greatness.

The sage models himself on the Dao and does not claim credit for his achievements. He never deliberately seeks to display himself, and so is able to accomplish great and glorious works.

Chapter 35: Holding to the Great Image

Hold to the Great Dao, and all things under Heaven will return to you.

“Great Image” refers to the Great Dao. If an emperor holds to the Dao in governing the realm, all things under Heaven will come to him.

When all things return without being harmed, they can live in stability, harmony, and peace.

Music and fine food can make a passing traveler stop.

Here, “music” means musical performance, and “bait” means food and drink. If a household has music and fine food, passersby will stop there. Likewise, if an emperor governs the realm by the Dao and brings peace to all under Heaven, all things will return to him. Another interpretation is that music gathers people through sound, while food attracts them through taste; passersby can only stop for a while, not stay for long. A travelers’ inn cannot serve as a permanent home, and overly elaborate rules of benevolence and righteousness can bring many demands. A ruler should embody the Dao through stillness and simplicity, first removing harsh scrutiny and cumbersome decrees, and ultimately allowing the people’s customs to return to their natural simplicity. That is why the passage concludes by saying that the Dao’s function is inexhaustible.

The Dao, when spoken of, is bland and without flavor.

When a ruler teaches through the purity of Dao and De, the words at first sound plain and tasteless. They carry none of the emotions found in worldly commands, such as affection, praise, fear, or contempt.

The Dao is unseen, plain, and tasteless.

When a ruler teaches through the purity of Dao and De, the words at first sound plain and tasteless. They carry none of the emotions found in worldly commands, such as affection, praise, fear, or contempt.

The Dao cannot be seen, and what is heard of it does not qualify as a sound. Yet its use is inexhaustible.

To bring peace and purity to all under Heaven through the Dao does not begin with spoken commands. People therefore neither see nor hear it, yet simple and honest customs spread widely, all things flourish, and harvests abound year after year. Thus, the Dao’s effects are inexhaustible. “Exhausted” means brought to an end.

Chapter Thirty-Six: “What Is to Be Drawn In”

What is to be drawn in must first be allowed to open fully; what is to be weakened must first be allowed to grow strong for a time; what is to be abolished must first be allowed to rise for a while; what is to be taken must first be given. This is called “subtle illumination”: a principle that is hidden yet discerning.

The scripture says, “Straightforward words sound like their opposite.” The Book of Changes says, “Use yielding humility to exercise expedient change.” Expedient change means temporarily departing from the norm while remaining in accord with what is right. Thus, when a noble person uses expedient change, what matters is that it accord with what is right; when a petty person uses it, it becomes deceit and trickery. Confucius said, “One may establish the Way together with someone, yet still be unable to weigh what changes with them.” This is indeed true.

In the previous chapter, Laozi spoke of “holding to the Great Image,” which concerns the fundamental, constant Way. This chapter then speaks of “drawing in and opening,” which concerns expedient change. The two reflect one another. Their purpose is to examine the dispositions of living beings so that they may ultimately return to the Way of nature and life. Those who are deluded, however, say this is not what Dao and De mean. They are truly lost and unenlightened.

To draw in the desires of living beings, first let them unfold. Allow the mind of greed to grow to its utmost, letting people become trapped in desire and attachment; only afterward will they turn toward restraint. The principles of strength and weakness are much the same. This principle is hidden and hard to discern, but its result is clear, so it is called “subtle illumination.”

The soft and yielding can overcome the hard and strong.

Those who yield and remain gentle can respond flexibly to changing circumstances. When such flexibility is used well, it can bring things under control. Therefore, those who understand the way of weakness and softness will surely overcome those who are hard and strong.

Fish cannot leave the deep pool; a state’s important techniques of power must not be shown lightly.

“Letting go” means losing. “Sharp instruments” refers to the arts of adapting to circumstances. Here, the point is that these arts should not be revealed to unsuitable people. Just as a fish that leaves the deep pool can be caught, these arts, if seen by unsuitable people, may be secretly exploited and turned into deceptive, treacherous methods.

Chapter 37: The Dao Always Acts Without Action

The Dao always follows its natural course and takes no action, yet nothing is left undone. If lords and kings can uphold this principle, the myriad things will grow and change of themselves.

The Dao’s fundamental subtlety is quiet and still, so it always acts without action. The myriad things depend on the Dao for their life, and yet nothing is beyond its accomplishment. If lords and kings can uphold the Dao and practice Wuwei (non-action), the myriad things will change of themselves. When rulers take no action, the people’s customs become simple and sincere.

After the myriad things have changed, if someone again wishes to take action, I will use the nameless Uncarved Block to settle them.

Here, the people have already followed the ruler’s teachings and reached a state of Wuwei and quietude. If they then wish to act or deliberately impose their will, the nameless Uncarved Block can be used to settle them. The “nameless Uncarved Block” refers to the Dao.

One should not become attached to the “nameless Uncarved Block” either. When desire ceases, the mind can be still, and the world will naturally return to the right path.

Here, the ruler has already used the nameless Uncarved Block to settle the people, but must not become attached to it and turn it into a visible set of rules. Otherwise, people may pursue outward appearances, lose sight of the root, and return to deliberate action. Thus even the nameless Uncarved Block must be let go: do not cling to having no desires, and do not cling even to “having no desires” itself. In such calm and quiet detachment, the world will naturally return to balance and peace.

End of Volume Two of the Imperial Commentary on the Dao De Jing by Emperor Xuanzong of Tang

Volume Three: The De Jing, Part One

Chapter 38: Those of Highest De Do Not Cling to De

Those of highest De do not make a show of possessing De, and so they truly have De. Those of lesser De cannot let go of their attachment to De, and so they do not truly have De.

De is the expression of the Dao’s functioning. Zhuangzi said, “All things grow by relying on it; this is called De.” Times differ in their simplicity and their decadence, so De too has higher and lower forms. In ancient times, customs were simple and sincere, and the workings of De did not show themselves. There was no special virtue to speak of, so it was said that people were “without De.” Yet their simple and sincere nature had not been lost. They were taught through Wuwei (non-action), and their minds were clear, so it was said that they “possessed De.” Later, De gradually declined, and its workings began to become apparent. Although people inwardly embodied the Dao, their conduct involved deliberate action. They upheld De and displayed it, so it was said that “De was not lost.” Their conduct showed self-regard and attachment to possession; compared with ancient times, it was therefore more superficial. Hence they were said to be “without De.”

The highest De follows its own nature and acts through Wuwei, without deliberately relying on anything to attain Wuwei.

Knowing about Wuwei and deliberately practicing it is not the highest state. The highest state is to take Wuwei as no goal at all and arrive at it naturally. The Wuwei of the highest De does not seek the reputation of being non-acting; it nurtures a simple and sincere nature, and so Wuwei arises naturally. This is why it is said to act “without deliberate purpose.” At this point, neither the mind nor one’s conduct involves deliberate action.

The lower De involves deliberate action and intentionally relies on some means to carry it out.

In the case of lower De, although the mind wishes to maintain Wuwei, its workings are conspicuous, so conduct involves deliberate action. This is why it is said to “act.” In other words, the mind of lower De is non-acting, while conduct involves action.

The higher form of benevolence involves action but does not deliberately seek anything.

“Benevolence” means universal care for others. When lower De declined, higher benevolence emerged: people began to practice universal care, so it is said to “act.” In practicing De, the mind is non-acting, while conduct involves action.

Higher benevolence involves action but does not deliberately seek anything. One practices benevolence while forgetting that one is practicing it, and also seeks Wuwei; this is why it is said to act “without deliberate purpose.” Here, the mind involves action, while conduct appears non-acting. Higher benevolence is described as non-acting only because its conduct appears to seek Wuwei. It ranks above righteousness, but cannot be equated with the lower De whose conduct involves deliberate action.

The higher form of righteousness involves action and intentionally relies on some means to carry it out.

“Righteousness” means judging improper conduct and making things appropriate, so it is called deliberate action. “Ritual” further draws boundaries and judges right and wrong, bringing conduct into line with prescribed norms. This too involves intentional action, so it is called action with a specific aim. Here, the term refers to deliberate conduct both inwardly and in one’s outward practice.

“Superior ritual” is practiced deliberately, but when no one responds, one rolls up one’s sleeves and forces the other person to comply.

When the Six Bonds that maintain human relations lost their harmony, rituals were established to remedy the disorder; hence the phrase “deliberate action.” Ritual requires reciprocity: if the other person does not respond, this is considered a breach of ritual. When one pays the other person respect and receives no response, one rolls up one’s sleeves in anger and compels them to return the courtesy.

Thus, only after the Dao was lost did people speak of De; only after De was lost did they speak of benevolence; only after benevolence was lost did they speak of righteousness; and only after righteousness was lost did they speak of ritual.

The “loss of the Dao” here means the loss of superior De. Superior De accords with the Dao, so this is described as “the loss of the Dao.” Dao, De, benevolence, and righteousness are names used to describe social conditions as customs changed across different eras: only when the Dao declined did De become apparent; when De declined, benevolence was emphasized; when benevolence faded, righteousness was established; and when righteousness was lost, ritual was used to make amends. These were all measures adopted in response to the needs of their times.

Therefore, to speak of ritual in an age of simplicity is either presumptuous or perverse; to forget ritual in an age of declining customs is either ignorant or confused. If one can see this change clearly and adjust accordingly, one should set ritual aside and practice righteousness, set righteousness aside and practice benevolence, set benevolence aside and cultivate De, then forget De and accord with the Dao. When people return to simplicity, superior De can act through Wuwei (non-action).

Ritual is a sign that loyalty and trust have grown thin, and the beginning of disorder.

Ritual was established because loyalty and trust had grown thin, in an effort to use ritual to remedy disorder. The practice of ritual was meant to stabilize those in positions of authority and govern the people. Surely it is about more than gifts such as jade and silk?

“Foreknowledge”—the deliberate anticipation and scrutiny of things—is merely the Dao’s superficial show, and the beginning of ignorance.

Here, “knowledge” refers to a person’s innate awareness. If rituals that constrain outward conduct are established before they accord with people’s innate awareness, then although the intention may be to adapt to the times, they in fact harm the simplicity of human nature. That is why ritual is called the Dao’s superficial show. Ritual was originally meant to remedy disorder, and its value lies in bringing people into harmony. But if someone fails to understand its purpose and cares only about gifts of jade and silk and the formalities of kneeling and bowing, that person has begun in ignorance.

Thus, a person of De (Virtue) grounds themselves in substance rather than superficiality. They value inner truth and do not pursue outward splendor.

Deliberate striving makes the Dao shallow; elaborate ritual conventions are merely outward adornments of De. For this reason, the sage does not esteem the jade and silk offerings or the acts of kneeling and bowing used in ritual. If these ceremonies alone are treated as precious, this is where folly begins. The sage acts in accordance with Wuwei (non-action), values substance rather than superficiality, and, by letting go of formal ritual, can rest in what is real.

Therefore, set aside splendor and superficiality, and choose substance and truth.

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Those of Old Who Attained the One

Those of old who attained the “One”…

Here, the “One” refers to the harmonious state formed by the Dao: the Qi of balance and harmony that flows through the workings of all things. The subtle activity of the Dao within all things may be called the “One.”

Heaven attained the One and became clear; earth attained it and became stable; spirits attained it and became numinous; valleys attained it and became full; all things attained it and grew; and the lords and kings attained it and became the proper way for all under Heaven. They can do so because they attained the One.

All things rely on the Dao’s activity to establish their names. Their names have a basis because the Dao is at work; when its activity is lost, the foundation of things is lost as well. Thus heaven’s clarity, earth’s stability, the spirits’ numinous power, and the valleys’ fullness all depend on the Dao’s subtle activity.

If heaven could not remain clear, it might collapse; if earth could not remain stable, it might quake; if spirits could not remain numinous, they might lose their power; if valleys could not remain full, they might dry up; if all things could not grow, they might perish; and if the lords and kings could not maintain their honor and high position, they might be overthrown.

Those who “attain the One”—that is, accord with the Dao’s unifying principle—must not rely on their own power or function. The scripture therefore warns: Heaven should not rely on its clarity, lest it fall apart; Earth should not rely on its stability, lest it collapse and split; spirits should not rely on their efficacy, lest their spiritual power fade away; valleys should not rely on being full, lest they dry up; all things should not rely on their growth, lest they move toward extinction; and lords and kings should not rely on their exalted status, lest they fall and perish.

The sage’s teachings are passed down to later generations for the sake of the people. Although the discussion begins with the clarity of Heaven and the stability of Earth, its final point is that lords and kings should remain yielding and follow the Dao. The text therefore continues:

The exalted must take the lowly as their root; what is high must rest on what is low.

Lords and kings hold exalted positions, while the people occupy lowly ones. Those who govern a state should take the people as their root, diligently and humbly winning their support, so that they willingly accept instruction in benevolence and harmony and do not fall apart.

Thus lords and kings call themselves “orphaned,” “bereft,” and “unworthy”—humble terms meaning alone or lacking in virtue. Is this not taking the lowly as one’s root? Is it not so?

“Orphaned,” “bereft,” and “unworthy” are titles that ordinary people would not wish to bear. That lords and kings use them for themselves shows that they take humility as their root. The question “Is it not so?” makes clear that lords and kings truly take the lowly as their root.

A carriage is assembled from many parts, yet no single part can be called the whole carriage. The wheels and axle are essential to it. If exalted status is accumulated without restraint, it is lost; the lowly is the root of the exalted. Since the axle is essential to making a carriage, it must be preserved for the carriage to hold together. Since the lowly is the root of the exalted, one must remain grounded in the lowly for the exalted to remain secure. The passage speaks of a carriage to admonish lords and kings to take the lowly as their root.

Do not appear precious like fine jade, nor aloof and hard like stone.

“Lulu” describes jade’s smooth, precious sheen; “luoluo” describes stone’s hardness and isolation. This passage, too, says to take the lowly as one’s root.

Reversal is the movement of the Dao

This chapter discusses adapting to circumstances. “Reversal” means not clinging to convention when doing so would accord with the Way. Adapting to circumstances in a way that accords with the Way is how the sage acts. Such adaptation is how the Dao moves; hence the saying, “Reversal is the movement of the Dao.”

This passage explains that the Dao’s movement takes the form of turning back and repeating. Thus, the sage sometimes adapts to particular circumstances and acts flexibly, so that what they do may seem to go against convention while still accord­ing with the principles of the Dao. Such adaptation is itself a manifestation of the Dao’s movement.

Softness and weakness are how the Dao works. Here, “soft, yielding, feminine, and still” describes a gentle, humble, quiet state. The sage rests in this state because it is the way to grasp the Dao’s actual operation.

All things under Heaven arise from “being,” and “being” arises from “nonbeing.” The relation between adapting to circumstances and following the constant way is like the way “nonbeing” gives rise to “being”: the value of adapting lies in returning to what is real in its operation. “Being” cannot be separated from “nonbeing,” yet the supreme Dao is empty and still, beyond names and distinctions. The nature of all things is empty; they do not depend on one another. If one can forget the distinctions between adapting and holding fast, between being and nonbeing, and let go even of the distinction between “having a carriage” and “having no carriage,” then one may be said to have transcended these distinctions.

Chapter 41: When the Highest Type Hears of the Dao

When people of the highest capacity hear the Dao, they diligently put it into practice, for they have understood it.

When people of middling capacity hear the Dao, they sometimes remember it and sometimes forget it. They waver between advancing and retreating, and so remain doubtful.

When people of the lowest capacity hear the Dao, they laugh out loud, for they are confused and do not believe it.

If people of the lowest capacity did not mock it, it would not be worthy of being called the mysterious supreme Dao.

There is an old saying:

“Establishing a teaching” means putting forward an argument. What follows explains the different ways three kinds of people respond when they hear of the Dao.

The bright Dao seems dark; advancing seems like retreating; the level, broad road seems uneven and rough. People of the highest capacity who follow the Dao may appear dull, to be falling behind, or to be walking over rough ground. This leaves people of middling capacity doubtful and makes people of the lowest capacity laugh.

The highest De is as empty as a valley, able to contain all things.

Great purity seems stained: it means being pure yet able to accommodate what is impure.

Vast De seems deficient, because those who attain great De remain humble.

“Establishing De seems like idleness” means that cultivating De may appear to be laziness or slackness.

Establish achievements without flaunting them.

Remain plain and genuine, though you may seem to have changed.

Keep to simplicity and singleness of purpose, and dwell in harmony with the light.

The greatest square has no corners; it does not deliberately display its slightest edge.

The greatest vessel is often completed very late; it does not seek immediate results.

The grandest sound is scarcely heard; it is not expressed through ornate, trivial words.

The greatest image has no fixed form, and so can accord with all things.

The Dao (the Way) is hidden, without form or name. Its function is not displayed, and it has no title. Precisely for this reason, the Dao is able to nourish all things and bring them into being and maturity.

Chapter 42: The Dao Gives Birth to One

The Dao gives birth to One; One gives birth to Two; Two gives birth to Three.

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang explained: “‘One’ is the subtle Qi of balanced harmony. When the Dao stirs, it first gives rise to this subtle Qi. But this Qi alone is not enough to generate all things, so Yang Qi arises as well. Yang Qi cannot generate all things on its own either, so Yin Qi arises. The Qi of balanced harmony is counted as ‘One’; the two Qi, Yin and Yang, are counted as ‘Two’; and when the harmonizing action of the Qi of balanced harmony is added, they make ‘Three.’”

These Three give birth to all things.

Yin and Yang come together, and the Qi of balanced harmony regulates them; from this, all things flourish and grow.

All things bear Yin and face Yang, and achieve balance through the Qi of balanced harmony.

Since all things are generated through the combined action of Yin, Yang, and the Qi of balanced harmony, they all contain Yin and Yang and rely on the Qi of balanced harmony to nourish themselves and bring their inner nature into gentle accord.

The titles people dislike are simply “orphan,” “widower,” and “one who lacks grain”; yet kings and dukes use these words to describe themselves.

All things take the Qi of balanced harmony as their root. To hold fast to this gentle root, one should be humble and yielding. Thus even kings and dukes, though occupying the highest rank, call themselves “orphan,” “widower,” and “one who lacks grain,” thereby showing humility and gentleness.

Therefore, some things diminish themselves and thereby gain; others increase themselves without restraint and thereby suffer loss. Those who humble themselves are helped by others, while those who continually seek to enrich themselves are likely to incur loss.

Thus, some things are diminished and thereby benefit; others are increased and thereby harmed.

Those who know how to diminish themselves are helped by others in turn. Those who seek only to increase themselves are harmed by others in turn.

I teach others the same principle that others have taught me.

Laojun says: If a ruler wishes to establish moral instruction and teach the people, he should teach them through the way of softness and humility that I have described.

Those who show off their strength and strive to prevail often meet an untimely end.

The overbearing contend at every turn with all things. In seeking to gain more, they are harmed instead; moreover, they become entangled in external things, and so often meet an untimely end.

I take this principle as the foundation of moral instruction.

I have seen the overbearing come to ruin and the soft and weak remain whole. So I regard the teaching of softness as the foundation of all instruction.

The Softest Thing in the World (Chapter 43)

The softest thing in the world can pass through what is hardest in the world.

The softest thing is one’s pure, original nature. When one rushes about in worldly affairs, becomes stained by worldly circumstances, and is filled with desires and passions, that nature grows hard and difficult to transform.

“What is without substance” can enter where there is no opening. From this I know that Wuwei (non-action) truly brings benefit.

“What is without substance” means not being stained by worldly circumstances, so that the mind is empty of all things. “Where there is no opening” refers to the nature of the Dao, pure and clear, whose wondrous essence is a seamless whole. When desires no longer disturb us, both the mind and the external world grow still. The mind is empty of all things and becomes one with the Dao, entering a realm without openings. Thus the sages say that when body and mind are pure and clear, they can become one with the Dao. From this we can see that instruction through action is less beneficial than Wuwei.

Few in the world can achieve the teaching that does not rely on words or the benefits brought by Wuwei.

This means that among all the forms of instruction in the world, few can reach this state.

Which Is Closer to Us, Reputation or Life? (Chapter 44)

Which matters more, reputation or life?

Reputation is merely an accessory to real things. People pursue reputation to the point of harming themselves. This question is posed to encourage people to abandon achievements and reputation and preserve their original nature.

Which matters more, life or wealth?

Those who pursue fame single-mindedly are often seeking material wealth. Once they acquire it, their health may suffer as a result. If we ask which is more troubling, gaining or losing, Laozi urges people to give up precious pearls in order to preserve peace of body and mind.

Which is more harmful, gain or loss?

The question here is: compared with losing fame and wealth, which does greater harm to body and mind—gaining them or losing them?

Thus, excessive attachment to fame and profit must exact a heavy price, while hoarding too much wealth must ultimately bring heavy losses.

Those who are excessively attached to fame wear out their minds and spirits. Is that not a heavy price to pay? Those who accumulate great wealth are bound to be burdened by it. Is that not a heavy loss to bear?

Those who know contentment will not be disgraced; those who know when to stop will not encounter danger. In this way, they can endure. The contented are not excessively greedy, and those who know when to stop do not hoard too much. Free from disgrace and danger, they can endure.

Chapter 45: Great Completion Seems Incomplete

The most perfect things seem to have something missing, yet their function never fails. Those who have reached a high level of learning and conduct often appear modest and self-effacing. Humility brings benefit, allowing them to remain effective without falling into hardship and decline.

The fullest things seem empty, yet their function is never exhausted. Those whose official rank and status are especially high should still remain open and quiet, and practice frugality. In this way, their wealth is not depleted, and the resources available to them do not run dry.

True straightness seems crooked, because it does not flaunt itself or act without restraint.

True skill seems clumsy, because it does not put its abilities to improper uses.

Those truly skilled in argument seem inarticulate, because they do not rely on ornate words to prevail.

Restlessness can overcome cold; stillness can overcome heat. Quietude and Wuwei (non-action) are the proper way to govern the world. The commentary says that restlessness makes a person seem frivolous, while stillness brings composure. Thus, what seems crooked is in fact great straightness, and quietude is the proper way.

Chapter 46: When the World Has the Dao

When the world is governed with clarity and follows the Dao (the Way), people retire their warhorses and put them to work plowing the fields, using their manure to fertilize the soil.

When the world is guided by the Dao, its ruler teaches the people through Wuwei (non-action) and does not covet. There is no war, and warhorses are no longer needed. The people can tend their fields in peace.

When the world is without the Dao, warhorses appear in the countryside. A ruler without the Dao indulges his desires and seizes territory everywhere, so troops and horses gather at the borders.

The greatest fault is to believe that certain things are worth coveting. The greatest calamity is never knowing when enough is enough. The greatest failing is wanting to possess everything. When desire has no bounds, calamity grows severe.

Those who know contentment are truly wealthy. Contentment in the heart can last.

Chapter Forty-Seven: Without Going Out the Door

Without stepping outside the door, one can understand the world. Without looking out the window, one can understand the Way of Heaven—the patterns by which Heaven and Earth move.

The sage governs the world through Wuwei, with robes hanging loosely and hands folded. There is no need to issue commands frequently beyond the gate; the way to govern the world can still be understood. When human affairs are in harmony, the celestial patterns fall into order. Thus there is no need to peer out the window to understand the Way of Heaven.

The farther one travels, the less one understands the way to govern the world. If one cannot practice Wuwei, the farther and more often one issues commands, the less one understands how to govern.

Therefore, the sage can know without going out and can discern affairs in the world without inspecting them in person. Without deliberate action or relying on verbal instruction, the world can be governed naturally.

In pursuing learning, one should continually increase one’s knowledge; in embodying the Dao, one should continually lessen one’s attachments.

Those who pursue learning broaden their knowledge and experience day by day. Those who embody the Dao reduce their cultivation and actions day by day. Increasing knowledge and experience is the path of gradual study; reducing one’s cultivated efforts is the gateway to realizing the Great Dao. Thus, one may begin by accumulating cultivated efforts, but only by eventually forgetting what one has accumulated can one realize the Great Dao.

Reduce continually, and reduce again, until reaching Wuwei (non-action). Wuwei does not mean being unable to do anything. It means acting without deliberate contrivance, yet being able to respond to anything.

Those who pursue learning accumulate cultivated efforts; those who embody the Dao gradually let them go. Even after reducing these efforts, if one still intends to reduce them, one remains attached. Only by forgetting even that intention can one reach a state of detachment and Wuwei. It is like a mirror reflecting all things: it acts without deliberate intent, yet responds to things as they appear, and so nothing lies beyond its capacity.

In governing the world, one should consistently follow the principle of Wuwei and noninterference.

When rulers refrain from arbitrary action and do not disturb the people, the people of the world will rally to them; thus they can govern the world.

If they multiply government affairs and act with deliberate contrivance, they will be unable to govern the world.

Too many government affairs exhaust the people, and exhaustion leads to decline. For this reason, rulers who multiply such affairs cannot govern the world.

The sage has no fixed, private will; the people’s wishes become his own.

The sage responds to things as they move him, without clinging to any one idea. This is why he is said to have “no constant mind.” Yet he always takes moral guidance toward goodness as his principle, and so makes guiding the people toward goodness his own intention.

When the people are good, the sage treats them with goodwill. When they are not good, he still treats them with goodwill; in this way, their conduct can turn toward goodness. When the people keep their word, the sage trusts them. When they do not, he still treats them with honesty; in this way, people can gradually learn to keep their word.

The sage encourages those who are willing to be good and keep their word, following the course of their intentions. Those who have not yet managed this, he teaches with goodwill and honesty. Through the influence of the sage’s Virtue, the people gradually become good and trustworthy.

When governing the world, the sage is always careful and diligent in attending to its needs, bringing his own mind into accord with the minds of the people.

In governing the world and guiding the people, the sage is always mindful in his conduct, leading them toward goodness and trustworthiness. At the same time, he keeps his inner mind calm, allowing the radiance of his Virtue to shine forth in full. He makes the people’s hearts and his own intentions one, directing everything toward the world as a whole. This is why it is said that he “blends his mind with the world.”

The people all gaze intently at the sage and listen closely.

Moved by the sage’s De (Virtue), the people turn toward goodness. That is why they watch and listen to the sage with such full attention.

The sage regards all the people as infants.

The sage cares for the people as a loving mother cares for her children; in the sage’s eyes, they are all like infants.

He brings their hearts back to a state of uncarved simplicity, undisturbed by a jumble of desires.

Chapter Fifty: Going from Birth into Death

Moving from the path of life toward the path of death.

The chapter first sets out its central idea: those who understand the Way and follow nature can escape the predicament of life and death; those who are confused and cling to things enter the path of death.

Of those who seek to preserve life and rest in its proper principles, three in ten do so; of those who move toward death and fall into its path, three in ten do so as well.

This is a general account of people: roughly three in ten can rest in life and follow the principles that sustain it, while another three in ten can face death and accept its course.

People are alive, yet three in ten act in ways that lead toward death.

Some desire life so greedily that their actions damage it. Because they place too much value on their lives, their conduct often leads them toward death. Such people have lost the proper principles of living and also go against the way of facing death; they too make up about three in ten.

Why is this? Because they crave life too fiercely and deliberately try to nourish it.

I have heard that those who are skilled at caring for life walk on land without encountering rhinoceroses or tigers, and enter battle without being harmed by weapons. The rhinoceros has nowhere to use its horn, the tiger nowhere to set its claws, and weapons no chance to pierce them.

Those skilled at caring for life are clear and calm within, without a desire to grasp or possess. For this reason, external things cannot harm them. When walking on land, they do not deliberately provoke tigers or rhinoceroses; when entering battle, they do not don armor or take up weapons. Since they do not actively invite danger, external things have no way to wound their minds. Thus the rhinoceros has nowhere to thrust its horn, the tiger nowhere to set its claws, and weapons nowhere to strike.

Why is this? Because they have not entered the path of death.

Why is this so? Because the rhinoceros, the tiger, and weapons have no opportunity to harm him. Since he follows change without selfish intent and does not regard death as true death, external things cannot injure his life. Thus, he does not enter a place of death.

Chapter Fifty-One: The Dao Gives Birth

The Dao gives birth to and nurtures the myriad things.

The Dao’s wondrous source sets its workings in motion and brings forth harmonious Qi.

De (Virtue) nourishes the myriad things.

Through it, the myriad things grow and give life to all beings.

Each thing has its own form.

Qian (Heaven) guides, while Kun (Earth) transforms and nurtures. Thus the myriad things take on form and each occupies its place.

Various conditions bring the myriad things to completion.

As cold and heat run their course, each provides the conditions for growth and transformation to take shape and reach completion.

Therefore, there is nothing among the myriad things that does not revere the Dao and cherish De.

The myriad things depend on the Dao and De for their birth and nurture, so they revere and cherish them.

The Dao is revered and De is cherished, not because anyone bestowed rank upon them, but because this has always happened naturally.

The Dao and De are honored not because they received titles or commands, but because their power to give birth to and benefit the myriad things is always present. They are therefore honored naturally.

Thus, the Dao gives birth to the myriad things, sustains them, helps them grow, nurtures them, helps them come to fruition and maturity, nourishes them, and shelters them.

Therefore, there is nothing among the myriad things that does not revere the Dao and cherish De.

The myriad things are born, yet the Dao does not claim them as its own. It acts, yet does not rely on its accomplishments. It helps them grow, yet does not rule them. This is called “Mysterious De,” the profound and natural Virtue.

Its meaning is explained in detail in “Chapter on Nurturing the Spirit and Embracing the One”: that chapter says people should cultivate themselves by taking the Dao as their model; this chapter explains that the Dao’s workings and human virtue are alike.

Chapter Fifty-Two: The World Has a Beginning

All things in the world have a beginning, and this beginning can be regarded as the mother of all things.

Here, “beginning” refers to the undifferentiated Qi, empty, still, and harmonious. This wondrous Qi gives birth to the myriad things and has the virtue of nourishing them, so it can be called the mother of all things.

Since the myriad things are born from this mother, they can recognize where they come from.

Nourished by harmonious Qi, the myriad things can know that they, too, are descendants of this Qi.

Once they recognize themselves, they should return to and abide by their mother. If they do so throughout their lives, they will not fall into danger.

Knowing that they are born from harmonious Qi, they should hold fast to this wondrous Qi and keep it from dispersing. In this way, until life’s end, they can remain far from danger.

Block the gates of sensual desire, return to and abide by the source from which all things arise—the “Mother” (a reference to the Dao)—and you can live in peace, free from harm.

“Pleasure” refers to the desires of the senses. The eyes crave beautiful sights, the ears crave pleasing sounds, and each of the six faculties—the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—has its objects of attachment. Indulging these desires brings trouble. So restrain the senses and close the gates through which harm enters, and you can avoid a lifetime of toil.

If you leave the gates of the senses open and indulge in sights and sounds, busily satisfying every desire, trouble will keep coming until, in the end, it is beyond remedy.

To notice a problem while it is still slight and correct one’s conduct in time is called “clarity.” To hold to gentleness so that external things cannot easily harm you is called “strength.”

Seeing what is slight allows you to discern clearly; holding to gentleness is true strength. If you rely on your own cleverness and act forcefully, you lose the wisdom of discerning the subtle and holding to gentleness. Instead, let clarity illuminate what lies beyond, then return to inner discernment, and you will be free of trouble for the long term.

To keep disaster from reaching you is to make hidden use of the constant Dao.

Chapter 53: “If I Had Even the Slightest Sense of Self-Assurance”

Laojun says: If I were even slightly self-assured, thinking that I understood things and intending to use that understanding to put the Great Dao into practice, then my actions would not accord with the Dao. This is something to be wary of.

The Great Dao is level and easy to follow, yet people prefer shortcuts. Though the Great Dao is simple and straightforward, people often overthink and crave quick results, like travelers who leave the main road for crooked paths. This brings harmful consequences, as the following passage will explain.

Exalting the worthy and showing off cleverness give rise to contrivance and hypocrisy. “Eliminating” means governing.

The fields lie barren,

because those who live by wandering from place to place neglect farming.

The granaries stand empty,

because the crops in the fields have failed and nothing has been stored away.

They wear splendid clothes,

with exquisite carving and embroidery that sacrifice craftsmanship and usefulness.

They wear sharp swords at their waists,

cultivating no civil virtue and honoring only military strength.

They grow tired of plain food,

cooking fatty meat and hunting for delicacies in pursuit of strong flavors. “Tired” means satisfied.

They possess wealth in excess,

amassing goods and storing up treasures, with many rare and unusual objects.

This is called “thievery and boastfulness”; it is contrary to the Dao.

Relying on one’s cleverness, one’s actions instead bring harm. One behaves like a thief, yet still boasts of it. Boasting of theft violates what is right and can only bring a sigh. “Indeed” is a particle expressing lament.

Chapter 54: What Is Well Established Cannot Be Pulled Up

What is well established cannot be pulled up.

Those who truly establish a state and lay its foundations through the Dao create an undertaking that cannot be overthrown.

What is well embraced will not be cast off.

Those who embrace the people well through the Dao will not be abandoned by them.

The sacrifices to their descendants will not cease.

A ruler who lays foundations through the Dao and De, and embraces the people, leaves a legacy of kindness for generations to come. People cherish such a ruler as they cherish the sweet pear tree—how much more will his descendants do so? In ancient times, emperors called ancestors who had rendered great service “Founders” and former kings of virtue “Patriarchs.” The Zhou dynasty began with Houji and was brought to fruition by Kings Wen and Wu. In Zhou ritual, Houji was worshiped in sacrifices outside the capital, while King Wen was worshiped in the ancestral temple. Thus, even though the Zhou had once divined that the dynasty would endure for thirty generations and its reign for seven hundred years, and even after the temples were destroyed and ancestral tablets scattered, the rites honoring Houji and King Wen never ceased.

Cultivate the Dao in oneself, and one’s De becomes true and pure.

If a whole family cultivates the Dao, its De will be abundant.

If an entire village cultivates the Dao, its De will endure.

If an entire state cultivates the Dao, its De will be rich.

If all under Heaven cultivate the Dao, its De will spread everywhere.

Those who deeply embody Dao and De are as pure and gentle as newborn infants.

Venomous creatures will not sting them, fierce beasts will not seize them, and birds of prey will not strike at them. A person who reaches this state seems so wondrous that external things cannot harm them. This is because they harbor no wish to harm other things, and so do not invite attack from them. This is what it means to embody Dao and De deeply.

An infant’s bones are weak and its sinews soft, yet it can clench its fists tightly. It knows nothing of sexual union, yet its genitals become erect; this shows that its Jing and Qi are full to the utmost. It may cry all day without becoming hoarse; this shows that body and mind are in perfect harmony. The infant is wholly natural, with its vital energy in abundance: this is the state being described.

Knowing how to preserve this harmony is called the Constant, the Dao that never changes.

To remain peaceful and supple like an infant is to understand and follow the constant Dao (the Way).

Understanding the constant Dao is called clarity.

An infant may cry all day without becoming hoarse. This is because its harmonious Qi is supremely pure and abundant; it is also a sign that the newborn preserves its harmonious Qi.

Understanding how to harmonize is called constancy.

To remain peaceful and supple like an infant is to understand and follow the constant Dao.

Understanding the constant Dao is called clarity.

To preserve peace and understand the constant Dao is called clarity.

Seeking to prolong life and striving excessively to gain more will bring an ill omen.

An “omen” is a sign that good or ill fortune is about to become apparent. Here, the text says that someone who does not understand how to preserve constancy, but instead goes beyond their proper bounds in pursuit of a longer life, acts in a way that leads toward death. This is an ill omen.

Letting the mind drive the Qi is called forcing things.

The mind distinguishes right from wrong, but Qi itself makes no such distinctions. To make the mind drive the Qi is to act with forceful ambition.

When things reach their height, they grow old and decline. This is contrary to the Dao; what goes against the Dao soon comes to an end.

Whatever reaches its utmost strength will turn toward decline. Therefore, the scripture warns people not to rely on their strength or strive to prevail through force. Such conduct goes against the Dao and should be stopped in time.

Chapter Fifty-Six: One Who Knows Does Not Speak

Few people have true understanding; those who love to speak do not truly understand.

“Knowing” means awakening to the truth; “speaking” means arguing and expounding.

Close the openings of the senses,

One who has truly awakened does not crave or cling to things, and is not caught up in words when speaking. Hence the instruction to close the openings of the senses.

Shut the gates of desire.

Once craving and attachment have ceased, the gates of appetites and desires are closed as well.

Soften the edges, untangle the knots, temper the light, and blend with the dusty world. This is called “mysterious unity,” joining with the Dao in its profound mystery.

For a detailed explanation, see the chapter “The Dao Is Empty.” There the idea is discussed from the perspective of the Dao; here it is considered from the perspective of the person. If people can comprehend and practice the Dao, they can unite with its mysterious Virtue.

Therefore, others cannot draw especially close to such a person,

“Mysterious unity” involves no partiality, so others cannot draw especially close to this person.

Nor can they keep especially far away.

This person naturally lives in harmony with everyone, so no one can keep especially far away either.