《宋徽宗道德真经解义(章安)》Vol. 2

The eyes look for it but cannot see it. This is called “Yi” (level and indistinct, impossible to make out).

The Imperial Commentary says: The eyes govern sight and are used to see things clearly and distinguish among them. “Yi” means level and without distinction, beyond the reach of vision; hence it is called “Yi.” The Great Change—the state before the myriad things have appeared in form—has not yet manifested. Only Qi exists, and this is precisely such a state.

The Minister’s Commentary says: When sight is at work, things can be seen. The eyes, through their own acuity, perceive objects outside themselves; this is only what the power of sight can reach. When the myriad things return to the same source, things and self are profoundly interconnected. Since this lies beyond the reach of vision, what could there be to see?

The ears listen for it but cannot hear it. This is called “Xi” (subtle and faint, beyond hearing).

The Imperial Commentary says: The ears govern hearing and are used to listen for things. “Xi” means vast and open, beyond what hearing can detect; hence it is called “Xi.” “The greatest sound is scarcely heard” refers to this state.

The Minister’s Commentary says: Sound arises from things and is produced when things are affected. Since it belongs to the realm of form and sound, it can be heard. Yet within silence, there is a harmony that can be apprehended alone; thus it is said, “The greatest sound is scarcely heard.” This subtle sound can only be experienced inwardly, as though vast and open. For this reason, it is called “Xi.”

Reach out to touch it, but it cannot be felt. This is called “Wei” (hidden and subtle, beyond touch).

The Imperial Commentary says: It is so subtle that it has no form at all. Who, then, could touch it? “The greatest image has no form” refers to this state.

The Minister’s Commentary says: Anything that can be touched or held belongs to the realm of form and substance. There is nothing to touch; try as one might, it cannot be felt. The “greatest image” is this formless state. It alone can manifest within formlessness, and for this reason it is called “Wei.”

These three cannot be pursued to their furthest point, so they merge and become one whole.

“Taiyi” refers to the primordial state before Heaven and Earth were divided and before the myriad things had taken shape. At that time, how could high and low be distinguished? The greatest sound is heard as almost soundless; how could clarity and murkiness be distinguished? The greatest image has no fixed form; how could large and small be distinguished? The eyes have no use for sight, the ears no use for hearing, and the body need expend no strength. Here lies the Dao in its complete state. Try to fathom it, and you cannot reach its end; try to seek it out, and you cannot grasp it. Qi (vital energy), form, and substance are all present, yet have not separated from one another, so they blend into one. Since they have already become one, can we really say nothing about them?

The official Zhang An explains: Seeing, hearing, or touching it does not mean that it is wholly absent. Yet being unable to see, hear, or touch it shows that it is not concretely real. Calling it “Yi,” “Xi,” and “Wei” means that it seems to be there and yet not there. Because it is thus elusive, no fixed description can exhaust it; all things therefore blend together without separation. Being and nonbeing are alike, and nonbeing is also joined with being. This is what is meant by blending into one.

Above it, nothing appears bright; below it, nothing appears dark.

The Imperial Commentary says: The realm beyond form is profound and difficult to comprehend, its Yin-Yang transformations impossible to fathom. This is what is called the “Utmost Spirit,” which is why it is said to be not bright. Here, “jiao” means bright. The realm beneath form is where the alternation of Yin and Yang is distinct and follows an established order. This is what is called the “Utmost Dao,” which is why it is said to be not dark. “Mei” means dark. The Book of Changes says, “How the subtle principles of the spirit are made manifest depends on how people understand and put them to use.”

The official Zhang An explains: Once one enters the realm of concrete forms and things, Yin and Yang become distinct. Thus, brightness above and darkness below are natural. The subtle workings of the Utmost Spirit cannot simply be called bright, and where the Utmost Dao operates cannot simply be called dark. Neither bright nor dark, it has still not departed from the state of blending into one.

It extends without end and is difficult to name, yet in the end returns to what has no form or substance.

The substance of the Dao follows its own constant course, like the cycle of day and night, yet the causes of its hidden changes between darkness and light cannot be known. How could it be described through outward form, sound, and color? We can only say that the Dao ultimately returns to what has no thing.

The minister explains: “The One” is the constant course of the Dao’s operation. It joins being and nonbeing, above and below, into an undivided whole; therefore, the Dao cannot be defined by a name. “Continuous and unbroken” describes its ceaseless connection and movement. “One and yet another One” points to the Dao’s profound mystery. The Dao returns to a state in which nothing has ever existed, which is why it is said to “return to what has no thing.”

This is called the shape without shape, the image without objects—in other words, the elusive and indistinct.

The Imperial Commentary says: The shape without shape and the image without objects may seem elusive, yet something real exists within them; they may seem indistinct, yet they contain images. It is like the Great Void, the boundless expanse of emptiness, which contains all things but reveals no point at which they begin. It is also like human spiritual awareness and intelligence, which exist naturally, though how they function is difficult to investigate. This state is said to exist, but not in the ordinary sense of existence; it is said not to exist, but it is not wholly nonexistent. The sun and moon, for example, are far from us, yet people use a yang-sui mirror to kindle fire and a fangzhu vessel to draw water, causing fire and water to appear. Where, then, are the water and fire? The shape without shape and image without objects are just like this.

The minister explains: The shape without shape exists but cannot be seen; the image without objects exists but cannot be grasped. To say that it returns to what has no thing is to say that it returns to a state in which nothing has ever existed. The shape without shape and image without objects may also be described as a state in which there are no things. The saying “it exists, yet is not existence; it does not exist, yet is not nonexistence” describes the elusive and indistinct.

Go toward it, and you cannot see its front; follow it, and you cannot see its rear.

The Imperial Commentary says: The Dao has no beginning when it starts and no end when it concludes. Therefore, whether you go toward it or follow it, you cannot see it.

The minister explains: If we look at changes of coming and going, beginning and ending, we can distinguish front from back and head from tail. But the Dao returns to a state without form—how could it have a beginning or an end? The Dao is concealed within what has no thing; how could we insist on dividing it into front and back? It cannot be met when it comes or followed when it departs. Who can know when it begins or where it ends?

Hold fast to the Dao handed down since ancient times, and use it to govern the transformations of all things in the present. To know the original source of all things is called grasping the guiding principle of the Dao.

The Imperial Commentary says: Yin and Yang alternate, and from this all things come into being. Each thing has its own order of coming and going: when things arrive, they cannot be met; when they depart, they cannot be followed. Who can know where they begin, or where they end?

Hold fast to the Dao handed down since ancient times, and use it to govern the transformations of all things in the present. To know the original source of all things is called grasping the guiding principle of the Dao.

The Imperial Commentary says: When Yin and Yang join, that is the Dao. If one models oneself on Heaven alone and disregards Earth, one may be obscured by the Dao’s transformations, relying on firmness and the active movement of Yang. If one models oneself on Yin without Yang, one may become mired in the Dao’s stillness, remaining in a barren, lifeless state. To act only for oneself is to abandon standards; to act only for others is to abandon righteousness. Could this be the Dao handed down from antiquity?

The ancient Dao cannot be pursued to its end through words, yet it is not something with a real, tangible form. It appears elusive and mysterious, yet it is not nothingness. Hold fast to the ancient Dao in governing worldly affairs, and one can move freely with change and bring out the full benefit of things. One can also set all things in motion and bring them to life, working in ways beyond comprehension, so that nothing remains unaccomplished. This is the Dao’s constant and unchanging principle, which nothing can alter—the Dao said to have existed continuously since ancient times. Therefore, to know the original source of all things is called grasping the guiding principle of the Dao.

The Minister Yi says: The ancient Dao is one. Hold fast to this root and put it into practice, and you can govern all things under Heaven. “Present” refers to the time when events take place; “ancient” refers to the state in which all things have not yet departed from the unity of the Dao. To know the root of the ancient Dao is to grasp the Dao’s constant principle. Therefore, this is called its guiding principle.

Those in ancient times who excelled at cultivating the Dao, Chapter Fifteen

Those in ancient times who excelled at cultivating the Dao were subtle, mysterious, profound, and difficult to understand...

Emperor Huizong of Song explained: The realized seekers of the Dao in ancient times were unlike scholars today, just as those skilled in cultivating the Dao differed from those who were not. Those skilled in cultivating the Dao were united with the Dao in what was subtle, shared the nature of the spirit in what was wondrous, and reached depths so mysterious and remote that they could be compared with Heaven. They understood all things and could manifest the workings of a sage. They kept their cultivation and abilities deeply concealed, beyond anyone’s power to fathom.

The Book of Documents says, “The Dao-heart is exceedingly subtle.” This means that the Dao-heart is profoundly hidden, and so “subtle” expresses the Dao. The Book of Changes says, “Spirit is what makes the myriad things wondrous.” This means that spirit brings about the wondrous transformations of all things, and so “wondrous” expresses spirit. The Book of Changes also says, “Heaven is dark and Earth is yellow,” which is why “dark” is the color of Heaven. The Zuo Commentary says that one who can handle everything without exception is called a sage; thus, “understanding all things” is a sage’s ability.

No matter how deep the water, it can still be measured; no matter how deep a cave, it can still be explored. Yet those of ancient times who were skilled in cultivating the Dao could be subtle, wondrous, dark, and penetrating without letting their reputation or outward qualities show. Their inner workings could even spring from their heels, yet remained deeply concealed and impossible to fathom. Lie Yukou, a Daoist figure, once lived in an orchard in the state of Zheng for forty years, and no one recognized his extraordinary nature. Laozi told Confucius, “A skilled merchant stores his goods deep away, so that he seems to have nothing; a virtuous gentleman looks outwardly like a dullard.” Is this not precisely the sort of thing meant here?

The ministerial commentary explains: In remote antiquity, when all things had only just begun, the Dao had not yet departed from the state of undivided wholeness. Goodness arose by receiving and unfolding from the Dao; goodness itself was the Dao made manifest. Later, people began to focus on managing affairs and assisting in practical matters, and scholars came to regard such work as their duty. This is what distinguishes scholars of antiquity from scholars today. The ancient scholars came forth from the origin of remote antiquity, received the Dao through goodness, and were therefore able to return to the Dao. They also took the Dao upon themselves and carried the Great Dao; thus they could be subtle and wondrous, deep and penetrating, their realm so profound that it was difficult to fathom.

“Subtle” joined as one with the Dao describes the Dao’s profundity; “wondrous” joined as one with Shen (spirit) describes the profundity of the numinous realm. To correspond with Heaven and manifest the mysterious, letting things unfold of themselves, describes the profundity of the principle of transformation. To foreshadow the Way of the sage and penetrate the mysterious describes the profundity of responding to worldly affairs. Shallow principles can be inferred in an instant; but who can discern what lies in far-reaching endeavors?

Precisely because it is difficult to discern, one can only strive to describe what it is like.

The imperial commentary explains: Heaven is so high that it cannot be measured at once, and Earth is so deep that it cannot be probed immediately. To say that Heaven is round and covers, and that Earth is square and supports, is merely to use their shapes as metaphors. If one can only strive to sketch its outward form, how could one truly fathom its utmost limit?

The ministerial commentary explains: Since it is too profound to discern, words cannot fully express it; who, then, could aptly compare or discuss it? One can only borrow things as metaphors, saying, for example, that it is like a river rushing onward or a lake vast and deep.

“Cautious, as though crossing a river in winter; hesitant, as though wary of those around him”: cautious as if wading across a river in winter; hesitant as if afraid of the neighbors on every side.

The imperial commentary explains: “Cautious” means taking precautions in advance against misfortune that has not yet occurred; “hesitant” means continuing to deliberate carefully after something has happened. Those in antiquity who realized the Great Dao devoted themselves to inner cultivation and took no pleasure in mastering external things. They remained wary and examined themselves, responding to external affairs only when they had no choice. Like someone crossing a river in winter, they proceeded carefully and held fast to their original nature. To be wary of one’s neighbors is like the “purification” spoken of in the Classic of Changes: restraining oneself with reverence and purity.

When people came to question him, he responded only because he had no choice; he did not delight in dealing with the myriad things. To be on guard before something happens is called “forethought”; to remain apprehensive after it has happened is called “caution.” To be as careful as someone wading through a river in winter means that he proceeds cautiously only because he has no choice, not because he wishes to. To be wary of one’s four neighbors means to understand that awe-inspiring things are everywhere nearby, close at hand and never apart from oneself. Thus he remains constantly alert and dares not give free rein to himself.

Dignified in bearing, as if deep in thought.

The Imperial Commentary cites the Analects’ “Seen from afar, he appears imposing,” the Book of Rites’ “Dignified, as if in thought,” and the Zhuangzi’s saying: “When things lack the Dao, one rectifies one’s bearing to bring them to understanding, and so people’s intentions subside.” This means that when faced with something unreasonable, one uses a proper bearing to help others understand, allowing their distracting thoughts to fade. A person whose De is complete commands respect from afar, yet does not become tiresome in close company. His bearing is therefore upright, but he does not form factions.

The Minister’s Commentary explains: “‘Dignified’ describes a grave and composed manner; ‘bearing’ refers to an expression that is free to change. Because he is composed, the Book of Rites says he seems deep in thought; because his expression is not bound to any single manner, the Zhuangzi says to rectify one’s bearing. He is solemn as a visiting guest; letting go of thoughts that divide, his expression settles into stillness.”

Open and relaxed, like ice about to melt.

The Imperial Commentary says that water freezes into ice, and when the ice melts it becomes water again; their underlying nature was the same all along. Clinging to distinctions is like water freezing into ice; understanding that the myriad things are one is like ice melting into water. The Book of Changes says that “Dispersion” means separation. To abandon attachment to external things and remain untethered by human affairs is “dispersion.”

The Minister’s Commentary explains that when one is confined to bodily form, one is constrained by what “exists”; when one roams in the realm of the beginning of the myriad things, one returns to “nonexistence.” Abandoning external things and remaining untethered by human affairs is therefore called “dispersion.” To be like ice about to melt is to return with the myriad things to a mysterious unity. Water freezes into ice, and ice melts into water, yet neither ever departs from its own original substance; thus all can flow together without obstruction.

How substantial, like uncarved wood.

The Imperial Commentary says that “substantial” means solid to the utmost. Human nature is originally deeply substantial, like wood that has not been worked or made into an implement.

The Minister’s Commentary says that water freezes into ice and, when it melts, becomes water again. It never departs from its own original substance, and so all can flow together without obstruction.

Honest and substantial—like an unworked log.

The Imperial Commentary says: “Substantial” means substantial to the utmost degree. Human nature is originally deep and substantial, like the plain simplicity of wood before it is made into an object.

The minister explains: Returning to the original depth of nature and life is called “substantial.” It is like a whole piece of wood, complete and undivided, before it has been cut and worked into an object; this is called “uncarved simplicity.”

Vast and open—like a valley.

The Imperial Commentary says: “Vast” means vast to the utmost degree. The source of the mind has no boundaries, like an empty valley that can hold things and respond to them.

The minister explains: When the mind returns to a state of holding on to nothing, it is as open and spacious as the Great Void; this is vastness to the utmost degree. It is also like an empty valley, able to hold all things and respond to all things.

Muddled and indistinct—like a turbid stream.

The Imperial Commentary says: One does not deliberately polish oneself to appear upright and incorruptible, nor put on an intense manner to seem different from others. One simply remains muddled and natural, and so appears like a turbid stream. This is unlike those who deliberately cultivate themselves and proclaim what is clear and what is turbid.

The minister explains: A person and things become one, with no separation between them. This is like a turbid stream, able to contain impurities.

Who can still the turbid, letting it gradually clear? Who can stir the settled, letting vitality gradually emerge?

The Imperial Commentary says: A person of the Dao can act while keeping the heart-mind at rest. At times they move swiftly, yet in the end return to stillness. Though the mind is settled, it can respond to external things; though inwardly empty and quiet, it can meet their needs. Thus, when still, it gradually clears, and nothing external can confuse it; when in motion, it gradually comes alive, and nothing external can bring it to a halt.

The Book of Changes says, “It comes gradually.” Here, “gradually” means moving steadily, at ease, and without constraint. The Perfected Person—a person whose cultivation has reached the highest level—does not use the mind by treating stillness itself as good, nor by deliberately seeking quiet. Nor do they take the creation of vitality as a personal achievement, or make it happen by deliberate effort. They simply follow the way things are in their original state, letting them be as they naturally are, without alarm or haste. That is why it is called “gradually.”

When still, the mind gradually clears because nothing can disturb it; when in motion, things gradually come forth because nothing can hold its thoughts fast. “Settled” here carries the sense of stagnation: if external things hold one back, one will be stuck in place. How, then, can one respond to things without being impaired?

The court commentator Yi explains: What is called stillness does not mean that movement can turn into stillness; rather, movement has never been apart from stillness. What is called movement does not mean leaving stillness and entering into movement; rather, stillness has never been apart from movement. When movement and stillness are both present, the Dao is found in everyday things. Thus, the ancients who embodied the Dao seemed unsettled when they acted, yet never departed from stillness. They gradually became clear and calm, undisturbed by external things. When quiet, they were not entirely inactive; they gradually came to life, unconstrained by external things. Stability implies stopping; to become stuck on any particular thing is contrary to the Dao’s ceaseless circulation and change.

Those who maintain this Dao do not seek completeness or self-satisfaction.

The Imperial Commentary says: When something is stored up, one feels there is not enough; when nothing is kept in reserve, there is instead a sense of abundance. The perfected person stores up nothing, simply maintaining emptiness. If one regards all the world’s goodness as belonging to oneself, one’s understanding becomes narrow; hence one does not seek completeness. The scripture says, “The purest white seems stained; the highest De seems deficient.” This means that what is most pure appears to bear a trace of impurity, and the highest Virtue appears to have something lacking.

The court commentator Yi explains: Those who embody the Dao entrust their minds to it. If they claim possession of something and grow proud, then even if they still retain what they gained, little remains of it. Completeness means boasting of what one possesses and deeming oneself satisfied. Self-satisfaction inevitably leads to collapse; this is a necessary principle. How, then, could such things be kept for long?

Precisely because they do not seek completeness, they allow things to decline. They do not deliberately renew them or force them to succeed.

Emperor Huizong of the Song commented: Only when things grow old and fall into decline can they be renewed; once something has been accomplished, it will then deteriorate. The alternation of old and new is like the turning of the seasons; the interdependence of success and failure is like the transformations of all things. From the Dao descending into things with form and number, nothing escapes this pattern: old and new alternate, and success and failure bring each other about. Only the Dao has no fixed form. It is empty and never filled, and so can turn from old to new and from completion to decay. It stands beyond form and number, yet never truly declines or is destroyed. Hence it is said: “Precisely because it is never filled, it can turn from old to new without clinging to what is newly accomplished.” Trees flourish at first and wither in the end; fire blazes at first and eventually goes out. In each case, flourishing gives way to decline. The sun begins to set once it reaches its zenith, and the moon wanes after becoming full. In each case, completion is followed by destruction. Those who have the Dao are different.

A minister explains: What is full is bound to overflow and collapse, because it considers itself satisfied. When people are self-satisfied and boastful, insisting on seeking the new and achieving success, decline inevitably follows. Who can preserve fullness? The new is bound to become old, and what is accomplished is bound to suffer loss. They alternate and depend on one another, like a cycle that repeats without end. To renew and bring things to completion is to act in accordance with the affairs at hand; to let them decline is to return to the Dao through Wuwei (non-action). When things are new and complete, they are fit to be used, and so enter the realm of purposeful activity. When they decline, the time has come for circumstances to set them aside, and they return to the Dao. To allow things to decline without clinging to what is newly accomplished is to avoid fullness; this is why the Dao endures.

Chapter Sixteen: Reaching Emptiness and Stillness

Bring the mind to the utmost emptiness, and hold firmly to stillness without wavering.

The imperial commentary says: Nothing is more precious than emptiness, and nothing is better than stillness; emptiness and stillness are the foundation of all things. When the mind is empty, it can accommodate all things; when the mind is still, it can respond to every change. “Ultimate” is the point at which many things converge; “steadfast” is the state reached through diligent practice. Bring emptiness and stillness of mind to their utmost, and hold to stillness until it is deep and firm. Then, even amid countless varied forms, the mind remains clear and open; even amid changes of every kind, the mind remains calm and settled. This is called the joy of Heaven—the joy of following the Dao. Those who have not awakened to the Great Dao cannot understand this state.

The minister’s explanation says: Emptiness is where the Great Dao gathers; stillness is the state of returning to the Great Dao. When the mind is empty, it is not burdened by external things, and so can accommodate them all. When the mind is still, it does not become mixed up with external things, and so can serve as the basis for responding to every change. Only through emptiness and stillness can one, like a clear mirror, reflect Heaven and Earth and observe all things without being disturbed by their countless forms and transformations. “Ultimate” is the balanced and proper state attained by the Great Dao, as well as the point where all things converge. “Steadfast” describes the movement of the Great Dao and the state a force can attain. Devote yourself to emptying the mind until emptiness reaches its utmost; devote yourself to holding stillness until it becomes deep and firm. If emptiness and stillness have not yet reached their fullest, substantial things may obstruct you, making it difficult to be in accord with the Dao. If your hold on stillness is not yet firm enough, your actions may go against your nature.

When all things arise together, I observe how they return to their root.

The imperial commentary says: The transformations of all things are the Dao appearing in its outward forms. One who has awakened to the Dao can stand above all things and observe them. The birth of all things has its beginning, and their endings each have their place of return. As they arise together and set out along the path of activity and manifestation, I observe that what moves will eventually return to stillness, and what appears will eventually return to its root. In this way, one can see the original mind of Heaven and Earth. To encounter all things without changing along with them is what is meant by “observing their return.”

A minister explains: All things take shape between Heaven and Earth and move, entering and departing, through the Qi of Yin-Yang. After their activity, they inevitably return; in this way, we can see the original mind of Heaven and Earth. A person encounters the myriad things yet does not change along with them. This is called “observing their return”: watching how things return to their source.

The myriad things come into being through the Qi of Yin-Yang in Heaven and Earth, propelled by the natural course of things. They rush along the path of growth and change, moving restlessly and unable to stop of their own accord. Only one who embodies the Dao can observe stillness within motion and return within outward change. Thus, observe the myriad things as they all grow and change, and you will see the original mind of Heaven and Earth—let alone the principles that govern the things themselves.

The myriad things grow and change in profusion, but in the end each returns to its root.

The Imperial Commentary says: “Profuse” describes the myriad things in motion, appearing outwardly. They sprout in spring, symbolized by the Zhen trigram, and become manifest at the height of brightness, symbolized by the Li trigram. Then they flourish, their flowers and leaves shining in full splendor. When the harvest season arrives, symbolized by the Dui trigram, and the period of hardship represented by the Kan trigram has passed, the myriad things draw in their outward splendor, ripen, and return to the abode of their nature. Life is the root of nature, and nature is the root of life; Jing is the mother of Shen, and Shen is the offspring of Jing. When Jing and Qi are abundant, Shen flourishes. By fully realizing one’s nature, one can reach the root of life.

A minister further explains: The branches, leaves, and flowers displayed by the myriad things grow from their roots. To return to the abode of one’s nature is to return to the root. Only when the root is strong can the branches and leaves flourish, so the root is what sustains the life of all things. For the myriad things to return to their root is to return to the root of life.

Returning to the root is called stillness; to become still is to return to the root of life.

All things are constantly moving and changing, and thus come into being. The order that appears as things come into being is called “form.” Each body preserves its own spirit and follows its own laws; this is called “nature.” Before forms appear, all things already possess their own endowments, intermingled and connected with one another. This is called “destiny.” Destiny runs through past and present and endures, while nature remains unchanged as the forms of things shift. To preserve one’s body and life, one should set aside cleverness and calculation and return to stillness and calm. Then one can understand that destiny is within oneself, just as autumn and winter naturally follow spring and summer. Observing one’s nature, guarding one’s spirit, and examining oneself inwardly is called “returning to destiny”—returning to the source of life.

The myriad things flourish as movement and change take visible form, and this flourishing also results from their forms becoming distinct from one another. Returning to the root means reaching the utmost stillness; it is also where the source of life returns. The life endowment of all things arises from within them, just as autumn and winter naturally follow spring and summer. Observing one’s nature, guarding one’s spirit, and examining oneself inwardly is called “returning to destiny.”

All things receive their destiny from “nonbeing” and take on form in “being.” Thus, destiny gives rise to life, life gives rise to nature, and nature gives rise to emotions. Emotions arise with action, making people prone to linger among external things. If they pursue these things without restraint, they abandon the root for the branches, damage their foundations, lose their nature, and thereby bring their lives to decline. Only when the body is no longer an object of attachment, and one no longer asks where life comes from; when thoughts are no longer objects of attachment, and one no longer asks where thoughts arise, can one observe all things returning to their source as they arise together, and thereby understand the full course of things. Though all things flourish, each ultimately returns to its root; in this way, nature is fully revealed. Once the course of things is understood and nature made clear, one returns to stillness and purity, to the realm of utter emptiness. This is why it is called “returning to destiny.”

Returning to destiny is called “constancy.”

“Constancy” is spoken of in contrast to change. Once one has returned to destiny, no change can shake one. One’s cultivation continues without interruption; one unites with the Dao, accords with Heaven and Earth, and resonates with the “mother of Qi,” the source of the vital energy of all things.

“Constancy” means showing no attachment or favoritism, and thus no longer being constrained by an externally assigned destiny.

Returning to destiny is called “constancy.”

“Constancy” is spoken of in contrast to change. Once one has returned to destiny, no change can shake one. One’s cultivation continues without interruption; one unites with the Dao, accords with Heaven and Earth, and resonates with the “mother of Qi,” the source of the vital energy of all things.

The Explanation by Minister Yi says: What is called “constant” is not something ordinarily seen or easily approached. It has neither end nor beginning, does not depend on physical form, and is not governed by fixed destinies. It unites with the Dao and does not shift with change. This is the Dao’s true constancy. Only by returning to the root of one’s nature and life can one reach this state.

Knowing the principle of constancy is called “illumination.”

The Imperial Commentary says: One who understands the Dao’s constancy is not led about by external things. The senses are therefore clear and interconnected, able to discern Heaven and Earth and illuminate the myriad things.

The Explanation by Minister Yi says: To apprehend the Dao’s constancy without relying on the mind’s acts of distinction is true knowledge. To see the formless without relying on the eyes is the natural manifestation of awareness within one’s nature; this is why it is called “illumination.” With true knowledge, one is not drawn along by external things. When the heart-mind is clear, it can discern Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things.

Not understanding the Dao of constancy and acting recklessly brings calamity.

The Imperial Commentary says: The sages understand the Dao’s constancy, so their actions accord with principle and they often encounter good fortune. Those who do not understand constancy are turned this way and that by external things and bring trouble upon themselves at every turn. Reckless action therefore leads to danger.

The Imperial Commentary also says: The sages understand the Dao’s constancy, so their actions accord with principle and they often encounter good fortune. Those who do not understand constancy shift with external things and bring sorrow upon themselves at every turn. They rashly judge things as beautiful or ugly, good or bad, going against the Dao; they rashly generate notions of right and wrong, opposing the Dao as well. They cannot preserve their lives, and so face danger. The Book of Changes says, “Returning to one’s proper place, one will not act recklessly.” To lose one’s way and not know to return to one’s original nature is to act recklessly.

The Explanation by Minister Yi says: One who understands the return of life to its source understands constancy. One who does not understand this return, but instead pursues things outwardly and becomes entangled with them, forgets the roots of nature, life, and De. Immersed in secondary matters such as beauty and ugliness, right and wrong, one abandons what is real and falls into delusion, depleting Jing and Qi and losing clarity without knowing to turn back. If one loses the way and does not know to return, how can one avoid calamity?

Understanding constancy enables one to embrace all things.

The Imperial Commentary says: One who understands constancy does not cling to distinctions between beauty and ugliness, right and wrong. There is therefore nothing that cannot be embraced.

The Explanation by Minister Yi says: Understanding constancy means returning to utter emptiness and nonbeing, and uniting with the Dao. This is embracing all things to the utmost.

Only by embracing all things can one be impartial and selfless.

The Imperial Commentary says: With no partiality or attachment in the heart, one does not show closeness only to one’s own kin. Nor does one conceal distinctions between beauty and ugliness, right and wrong; thus one can embrace everything.

The Explanation by Minister Yi says: Understanding constancy means returning to utter emptiness and nonbeing, and uniting with the Dao. This is embracing all things to the utmost.

Only through tolerance can one be impartial.

The Imperial Commentary says: With no partiality in one’s heart, one does not favor only one’s own relatives or cherish only one’s own children, but regards everyone equally. What room is there for private motives?

Chen Yi says: Nothing lies beyond one’s capacity to embrace. When the heart is in accord with the Dao, it no longer distinguishes between self and other things. Where, then, could private motives arise?

Only by being impartial can one become a king.

The Imperial Commentary says: When the Great Dao is put into practice, all under Heaven belongs to everyone together. For this reason, the people are glad to choose such a king and do not grow weary of him.

Chen Yi says: When one is united with the Dao and impartial, the people naturally turn to him. They are therefore glad to choose him and do not grow weary of him.

The king accords with Heaven, and Heaven accords with the Dao.

The Imperial Commentary says: The one who connects Heaven, Earth, and humanity and stands among them is the king. The one who unifies all that is vast, dwells above, and covers everything is Heaven. The Dao is what all things between Heaven and Earth follow. By fulfilling one’s human responsibilities, one can accord with Heaven; by understanding and emulating Heaven, one can accord with the Dao.

Chen Yi says: The people under Heaven turn to the king, yet he does not know why they do so; he lets everything follow its natural course. Heaven is vast and covers everything, and thus accords with Heaven. Forgetting why things are as they are, one lets them unfold naturally, until at last they return to nothingness. This is what it means to fulfill one’s human responsibilities, understand the Way of Heaven, and accord with the Dao.

The Dao can endure for a long time, and one can pass through life without danger.

The Imperial Commentary says: The Dao does not decline through countless generations, and all things flourish when they attain it. It runs through the sages of every age without end and covers Heaven and Earth without ceasing, so one can pass through life without danger. “Danger” means approaching misfortune; “good fortune” means approaching blessing. One who does not fall into danger will not bring calamity upon oneself through reckless action. Those who do not understand the constant Dao cannot achieve this.

Chen Yi says: Only by being in accord with the Dao can one endure; endurance is the Dao’s constant nature. The Dao is hidden from view, and so it can endure. The human body is bound by form, and so it must eventually perish. Yet even when the body perishes, that is not true annihilation. How much less, then, should one bring calamity upon oneself through reckless action?

Chapter Seventeen: The Highest

Of the highest rulers, the people know only that they exist.

Govern the world through a way of broad generosity, living alongside the people without putting on airs of superiority or deliberately pursuing a distinguished reputation. Then the people will feel neither an especially strong attachment of delight nor resentment born of hardship and distress; they will neither fear nor slight their ruler. The ruler makes no deliberate effort but lets the myriad things follow their own nature, so the people know only that such a ruler exists.

The subject’s commentary says: In the best-governed age, the ruler governs through Wuwei (non-action), and the people live according to their nature. They grow together without knowing why they are able to live; they gain things together without knowing where those gains come from. The people know only that they have a ruler, not what the ruler has done for them.

Next, the people draw close to and praise their ruler.

The Imperial Commentary says: Kindness reaches the people, and laws and institutions are handed down to later generations. People throughout the realm cherish their ruler as they would their parents, and so they draw close to him. His fine reputation shines forth like the sun and moon, and so the people praise him. Yet these are achievements left by imperial rule. The more visible the signs of attachment and praise become, the more the natural way in which all things form an undivided whole is diminished. The Zhuangzi says that Shun deliberately practiced goodness and won people over through virtue, and the people were pleased as a result. The “Terrace of the Numinous” in the Book of Songs also describes the people beginning to rally to King Wen of Zhou.

The subject’s commentary says: Governing through virtues such as benevolence and righteousness is rule through deliberate action. When a ruler shows kindness, the people draw close and pledge their allegiance; when he displays virtue, they remember and praise him. Such rule may seem highly effective for a time, but the complete Way of virtue has already scattered into particular things and human achievements.

Next, the people fear or slight their ruler.

The Imperial Commentary says: Guide the people with edicts and bring them into line with punishments, and they will fear their ruler. Even rewards drawn from all under Heaven may not encourage people to do good; even punishments drawn from all under Heaven may not restrain them from doing wrong. Some among the feudal lords, like King Zhuang of Chu, challenged the Zhou royal house by asking about the size and weight of its Nine Tripods. Some among the ministers, like Yang Hu, stole precious jade and a great bow. These were the customs of an age in decline, and so people came to slight their ruler.

In my view, governing a state without understanding the importance of grasping its root, and exerting effort only on outward forms, means that even if benevolence and righteousness are later promoted, their teachings may still not truly take hold. Rulers then use punishments and force to make people fear them, and govern through laws and institutions. But when laws are issued, wrongdoing flourishes; when orders are given, deceit arises. Feudal lords even dare to covet the royal authority of the Zhou Son of Heaven, and ministers dare to steal the state’s treasures. Thus people may fear their rulers, yet also slight and mistreat them.

When rulers themselves lack trustworthiness, the people do not trust them.

The Imperial Commentary says: People draw close to one another without being stuck together by glue; they hold one another to account without being bound by ropes. This is the highest form of trustworthiness. It was only after the Shang rulers swore oaths that the people began to turn away; it was only after the Zhou rulers held covenant assemblies that the feudal lords began to grow suspicious. In both cases, trustworthiness was lacking. When the best rulers of antiquity were in power, the people simply knew that such a ruler existed; they did not go out of their way to praise his trustworthiness. When rulers make people fear or slight them, people develop thoughts of deceit, cunning, and artifice, and trust is lost between them.

In my view, when governance does not take the Dao as its foundation, rulers themselves do not trust the Dao. They then rely on laws and institutions to establish their authority, hoping that the people will fear them and dare not slight them. This shows precisely that the rulers lack trustworthiness. When those above lack trustworthiness, those below do not trust them, and customs grow increasingly careless and harsh. Who could govern such great disorder?

“Cautious, as if cherishing words” means that rulers speak carefully and do not speak lightly.

The Imperial Commentary says: Seen from the perspective of the Dao, the rulers of the world should set their words and conduct in order. How could their speech be casual? They must therefore be watchful and cautious, and dare not act recklessly. Their words should be capable of serving as a standard for the world. When rulers act in accordance with the Dao, the world is transformed as well.

In my view, cherishing words means not speaking lightly; and when one does not speak lightly, one does not act lightly either. To be careful in both word and deed is to trust in the Dao. Since distrusting the Dao leads to disorder, one must speak with caution.

“When the work is accomplished and the task completed, the people all say, ‘It happened naturally’” means that once things have been done and achievements completed, the people feel that it all came about of its own accord.

The Emperor’s commentary says: The achievements of rulers who govern the world are simply what sages bring about by following the natural course of things. When people have enough to eat, fine clothes to wear, feel at ease with local customs, and take pleasure in their livelihoods, the ruler’s work is complete. Yet the people think that all this happens naturally, and often say, “What effect does the ruler’s power have on me?” This is the highest form of governance.

The subject’s explanation says: If one intervenes personally in everything and exhausts one’s spirit on trivial, superficial matters, then even if one claims to govern the world, disorder will ultimately follow, because governance has not followed the Dao (the Way). If one accords with people’s nature and life, allowing all things to grow naturally, then even when it appears to be Wuwei (non-action), the people will not notice the ruler’s merit. Those who value words will instead govern through silence and teach through the Dao. Once the ruler’s work in worldly affairs is complete, the people cannot say how it came about; they simply feel that everything happened naturally. They do not know that a ruler is governing them; they only know that someone occupies the position above them.

Chapter Eighteen: When the Great Dao Is Abandoned

When the Great Dao is abandoned, benevolence and righteousness arise.

Only after the Great Dao—the fundamental Way of natural non-action—has declined do standards such as benevolence and righteousness appear.

The Emperor’s commentary says: Only after the Dao is lost do people speak of De; only after De is lost do they speak of benevolence; only after benevolence is lost do they speak of righteousness. Benevolence is used to benefit others, while righteousness is used to establish oneself. Both have already departed from the Great Dao. Han Yu did not investigate the original meaning of the sages’ words “Dao and De.” He even claimed that “benevolence” and “righteousness” were definite concepts, while “Dao” and “De” were vague notions. This shows how shallow his contempt for benevolence and righteousness was, like the “deluded and benighted person” described in the Zhuangzi.

The subject’s explanation says: The Great Dao has no fixed name. All things and the self dissolve within it and return to nothingness, which cannot even contain sound. Once benevolence and righteousness appear, one has already departed from the Great Dao; they are levels differentiated out of De. Benevolence means loving others, yet being unable to forget those one loves. Righteousness means establishing oneself, yet being unable to forget the self. Once benevolence and righteousness are set up, other people and the self become burdens. When people turn toward concrete affairs and deliberate action, the Great Dao declines.

When wisdom appears, great hypocrisy follows.

Once cleverness becomes conspicuous, serious hypocrisy arises.

The Emperor’s commentary says: When the people’s ingenuity and strength are exhausted, they resort to hypocritical means to carry on.

The subject’s explanation says: If one uses clever schemes and calculations, trying to control worldly affairs, serious hypocrisy will arise.

Emperor Huizong’s imperial commentary says: When the people’s cleverness and strength are exhausted, they turn to deceit to carry on.

The minister’s explanation says: People rely on clever knowledge and quick wits, hoping to control the changes of worldly affairs and actively impose their will. The people then use their ingenuity to outdo one another, and deceit and disorder arise in turn.

Only when relations among relatives are discordant do the labels “filial” and “kind” appear. Only when the state is dark and chaotic do loyal ministers emerge.

Emperor Huizong’s imperial commentary says: Labels arise from what is lacking. The Zhuangzi says, “A filial son does not speak of his family’s faults; a loyal minister does not expose his ruler’s failings. This is what it means for a minister to fulfill his duty.”

The minister’s explanation says: When relatives live in harmony, people do not single out who is being filial or who is showing kindness. When a state is well governed, people do not single out how loyal its ministers are. In harmony and stability, filial conduct and loyalty are simply ordinary and natural. The name “filial kindness” arises only when such conduct is absent; someone is called a loyal minister only when disloyalty has appeared.

Chapter Nineteen: Cut Off Sagehood and Wisdom

Cut off what is called sagehood and abandon cleverness and schemes, and the people will gain a hundredfold.

Emperor Huizong’s imperial commentary says: The Dao gives all things a nature that is pure and undivided. To depart from the Dao and establish separate standards of virtue is called sagehood and wisdom. Once the idea of sagehood and wisdom is established, the world begins to see affectation, disputation, and deliberate efforts to be different. These disturb the foolish and make what is corrupt more conspicuous. To praise Yao and condemn Jie is to judge the ancients by standards devised by human beings. Seen this way, sagehood and wisdom bring little benefit to the world and much harm. Cut off and abandon these ideas, and people will return to unity with the Dao, each keeping to the true condition of their nature and life. The benefit will then be far greater.

My interpretation is that the designation “sage wisdom” arose only after people departed from the Dao and it was separated out from De. The common people lost their original simplicity and drifted from their ancient, unadorned nature; only then did sage wisdom appear. The sage takes the instruction of others as his foundation, while wisdom serves to discern human feelings. When rulers govern the people through sage wisdom, the people compete to imitate its outward practices, unaware that they already possess something precious within themselves. By abandoning the root and pursuing the branches, they bring even greater harm upon the people. If sage wisdom is no longer used to govern, but instead is set aside and abandoned, the people can naturally return to a state of harmony. They will no longer admire and pursue external things, but will be content with their own nature, and the benefits will be far-reaching.

Do away with benevolence and righteousness, and the people will recover filial devotion and compassion.

The Imperial Commentary says: Filial devotion and compassion are part of human nature. To deliberately cultivate benevolence and force oneself to practice righteousness is to replace human nature with benevolence and righteousness. Abandon the names of benevolence and righteousness and set aside their contrivances, and the people will return to their nature and recover their original state. They will not only care for their own kin, but also cherish others; they will not only love their own children, but also care for the children of others. In this light, why would filial devotion and compassion need to be deliberately promoted?

My interpretation is that filial devotion and compassion are the substance of benevolence and righteousness. Once these labels are established, the people’s nature is harmed instead. Human nature already contains filial devotion and compassion, but is burdened by the names and rules of benevolence and righteousness. Repeatedly emphasizing and deliberately displaying them entangles the labels with what is real and disturbs our natural disposition. Only when their outward forms are set aside can the people preserve their nature in its wholeness, treat one another sincerely, and stop weighing whether their feelings are genuine. Then filial devotion and compassion can be restored.

Do away with cunning and discard the pursuit of profit, and thieves and robbers will disappear.

The Imperial Commentary says: Those who play at cunning and changeable schemes no longer care about shame; those whose minds are wholly bent on profit care nothing for what is right. Such conduct belongs to the realm of theft and deceit.

My interpretation is that revering cunning exhausts the mind and weakens compassion… The Imperial Commentary also says: Those who play at cunning and changeable schemes no longer care about shame; those whose minds are wholly bent on profit care nothing for what is right. Such conduct belongs to the realm of theft and deceit.

Yichen says: When people prize cleverness, they exhaust their wits and become capable of doing anything. What sense of shame can remain? When people prize profit, they treat possessions as precious and insist on obtaining them. How could they still care about what is right? Once the pursuit of cleverness has been brought to an end, people earn their living through their labor and are more easily satisfied. When the desire for profit fades, people spend frugally and live more comfortably. In such circumstances, how could there still be thieves?

“Esteem wisdom, esteem benevolence and righteousness, esteem cleverness and profit”: merely removing these three forms of outward ornament is not enough. People must also have somewhere to return—that is, a clear foundation to follow.

The Imperial Commentary says: The ancient kings governed the world through the principles of human relations, and by the Zhou dynasty, the rules and forms of ritual had become increasingly elaborate. When their shortcomings emerged, outward ornament began to overshadow people’s nature: there was too much ritual form on the outside and too little simplicity within. People gradually lost their natural, unspoiled character and became increasingly caught up in selfish desires and habits. Laozi lived at the end of the Zhou dynasty and sought to correct these failings, leading people back to the root. He therefore advocated abandoning the elaborate doctrines of benevolence and righteousness and the study of ritual. Even the wisdom of the sages was among the things he sought to set aside. Did Laozi truly believe that benevolence, righteousness, and sage wisdom were inadequate to govern the world? No. The way of the ancient kings moves in cycles. To remedy the excess of outward ornament, nothing is better than returning to simplicity. Thus, “having somewhere to return” means bringing forth one’s unspoiled nature, holding to the Way of simplicity, and diminishing selfishness and desire.

Yichen also says: If only the outward ornament of sage wisdom, benevolence and righteousness, cleverness and profit remains, it will harm what is essential within. People will then lose the benefits they ought to enjoy; filial respect and loving care will no longer be abundant, and thieves will multiply. This happens because trust is lacking and only the outward forms of ritual remain. That is why these things must be set aside. When such outward ornament is abandoned, people in the world will not lose their true nature and fall into falseness. Laozi seeks to remove the harms caused by ornament, lead people back to the root, and give them somewhere to return. This return means bringing forth one’s unspoiled nature, holding to the Way of simplicity, and diminishing selfishness and desire.

Bring Forth the Unadorned Nature

The Imperial Commentary says: The Analects says, “In painting, the white ground comes first,” meaning that a painting begins with a white base before colors are applied. “Unadorned” refers to a white ground that has not yet been colored. To bring forth one’s unadorned nature is to be pure and unmixed.

Yichen says: Human nature is originally pure and simple, but once influenced by external things, it becomes disordered and divided. When the mind and nature are calm, they are unified and unmixed, and their original form appears naturally. Hence the phrase “bring forth the unadorned nature.”

Hold to the Way of Simplicity

Before an unworked piece of wood is made into an object, it remains whole and undivided. Even after the wood has been split up and fashioned into objects, the essence of the uncarved wood has not been severed. By keeping to one’s original simplicity, one can remain quiet and focused, unchanged. Zhuangzi said, “To accord with a state free of desire is called plain simplicity. Preserve plain simplicity, and the people’s nature can be kept whole.”

Zhang’an explained: “Uncarved wood” refers to timber in its whole, undivided state, before it is fashioned into an object. When the people’s nature remains whole in its natural state, untouched by the pull of external things, focused and unchanged, and held fast without loss, this is called “embracing the uncarved wood”—that is, keeping to one’s original simplicity.

Have fewer selfish thoughts and fewer desires.

Emperor Huizong of Song explained: To seek profit solely for oneself is selfishness. To cultivate the heart, nothing is better than reducing desire. With fewer selfish thoughts and fewer desires, one can understand the boundary between the heart and external things, and distinguish what is true from what is false. In this way, Virtue is preserved and one’s nature restored; labels such as sagehood and wisdom then disappear.

Zhang’an explained: When selfish desires gain the upper hand, people are drawn along by external things and lose themselves. With fewer selfish thoughts and fewer desires, one can reflect inwardly, place less importance on external things, and learn to value oneself, thereby preserving one’s innate Virtue. When Virtue is preserved and one’s nature restored to its original state, why pursue the name of sagehood and wisdom?

Dao Jing, Chapter Twenty: Put an end to the pursuit of learning, and there will be no worry.

Emperor Huizong of Song explained: Learning is undertaken to investigate the principles of things. When people devote themselves single-mindedly to learning and investigating those principles, weighing what is good and bad and examining the gains and losses of order and disorder, how could they avoid worry? If learning is undertaken to realize the Great Dao, then once the Great Dao has been seen, one can let go of the pursuit of learning. Continue to reduce until reaching the state of Wuwei (non-action), and yet nothing will remain undone. In this way, one follows the nature of one’s own life and nature, and can be at ease and joyful wherever one is. Therefore, there is no worry.

The ministerial commentary explains: One who preserves their natural nature does not depend on external things, and so can let go of attachment to knowledge and learning. Right and wrong have no end; baseless speculation, rash judgment, and endless distinctions and analyses bring many worries. Let go of these attachments, and thought no longer troubles you. You can preserve and restore your spirit, without letting your own intelligence and ability turn into masters over you. Follow the truth of your nature and life, and wherever you are, find contentment.

How far apart are the responses “yes” and “ah”? How great is the difference between good and evil?

The Imperial Commentary says: “Yes” and “ah” are both vocal responses; good and evil both arise from human nature. Those with narrow vision divide them according to private interests, while those who understand see them as a whole and recognize that they are essentially no different. When the sage governs the affairs of the world, speaking with ministers in the ancestral temple or at court, the sage uses different words according to the occasion. Yet in restraining evil and promoting good, the sage always does their utmost. The sage, too, cannot help but show reverence for what people hold in awe.

The ministerial commentary explains: “Yes” and “ah,” good and evil, are all distinctions made by deluded thoughts and perceptions. They are not far apart, so what is there to dispute? “Yes” and “ah” are both sounds; “good” and “evil” both arise from nature. Sound and nature are connected from the start. To regard “yes” as respectful and “ah” as neglectful, or “good” as right and “evil” as wrong—these distinctions all belong to deluded thought. Those who understand contemplate all things through the subtle principle and know that they have no differences at root. What, then, sets them apart?

People cannot help but show reverence for what they hold in awe.

The Imperial Commentary says: What sets all things in motion yet does not share the sage’s worries is the Dao. What people share with the common folk—their good and ill fortune, blessings and calamities—is worldly affairs. Those who realize the Great Dao have no worries; those caught up in worldly affairs have things to fear. When faced with what people fear, if one does not take it as a warning, few can escape misfortune. Therefore, the noble person reflects on themselves with a sense of caution and awe. The Book of Songs says, “Stand in awe of Heaven’s majesty.”

The ministerial commentary explains: When one realizes the Dao through Wuwei (non-action), things and self each rest in their proper place. What is there to worry about or fear? But if one takes part in governing worldly affairs, one shares with the people their good and ill fortune and their calamities. Therefore, the noble person reflects on themselves with a sense of caution and awe. The Book of Songs says, “Stand in awe of Heaven’s majesty.”

My interpretation as a minister: If we use a mind rooted in Wuwei to contemplate the Dao, and cling neither to ourselves nor to others, what is there to worry about or fear? Yet when we deal with worldly affairs, we share the people’s exposure to good and ill fortune, calamity and trouble. What people fear, the sage too must treat with care. The sage does not regard himself as different from everyone else; his sorrows and joys are shared with the people. If he does not fear what ought to be feared, how could he escape calamity?

“Vast and boundless—worldly affairs have no end.”

The imperial commentary says: Changes in the world are tangled and complex, difficult to govern and impossible to exhaust; they have no endpoint. Good and evil, as they are called, are not fixed and unchanging from the outset. Only those who understand the Dao know that, in the end, all things can be seen as one.

My interpretation as a minister: Within the realm of worldly activity, circumstances shift in countless ways, replacing and driving one another on without end. Their tangled threads stretch without limit, vast and inexhaustible. Only those whose mind and spirit are at one with the Dao can forget the distinction between self and things, put deluded thoughts entirely aside, and understand that all things are joined as one.

“The crowd is bustling and lively, as if enjoying a sumptuous sacrificial feast or climbing a high terrace on a spring day to admire the view.”

The imperial commentary says: All things unfold and flourish through Yang Qi, and gather and contract through Yin Qi. “Bustling and lively” describes the outward unfolding and flourishing of all things. Having lost the quietude of their original nature, people focus their attention on chasing outward: they crave fine food to satisfy their appetites, or admire the view from a high terrace to please their minds. Those who indulge in such pleasures grow ever more distant from the Dao.

My interpretation as a minister: Worldly affairs change in countless ways. Their myriad threads arise each day, coming and going without boundary, vast and inexhaustible. This is what is meant by “vast and boundless.” Those who cultivate the Dao are deeply wearied by this; only those who embody the Dao can remain free of its burdens. When governing the world, the sage knows that what the people fear must be treated with care. The text then says, “Vast and boundless,” meaning that even the sage has concerns about worldly affairs. People chase after external things and lose their original nature, leaving quietude for turmoil. They thereby lose the precious flavor and true joy they once possessed, yet become absorbed in trivial matters without realizing the burden they bring upon themselves. They let their minds and spirits chase outward, finding things pleasurable and satisfying; so they are content as if enjoying a sumptuous sacrificial feast. Finding such pursuits entertaining, they become absorbed as if climbing to a height on a spring day to admire the view.

I am cautious and quiet when alone, as though the myriad things have not yet appeared; like an infant who has not yet grown, whose joy, anger, and thoughts have not yet emerged.

The Imperial Commentary explains: The Dao De Jing speaks of “returning to infancy,” and the Zhuangzi also speaks of letting the mind and spirit rest at ease. An infant’s desires and thoughts have not yet begun to stir. The infant makes no distinctions between closeness and distance, affection and aversion, and remains quiet and peaceful. Harmony gathers within, while no talents show on the outside. Thus the infant seems not yet fully grown.

The Minister’s Commentary explains: One forgets oneself and returns to the original state of one’s nature. The mind is still and empty, and external things have not yet aroused desire. This is like an infant who has not yet grown: the mind is focused, desire has not arisen, and one’s nature remains whole and pure, making no distinctions between those who are close and those who are distant.

When I move forward, I follow the current, as though I had no fixed destination.

The Imperial Commentary explains: The Book of Changes says, “Ride the six dragons to govern Heaven.” To follow the current is to act in accord with the moment and respond to the way things are, without clinging to any single course of action. Thus it is as though one has no fixed destination.

The Minister’s Commentary explains: One follows the way things are in responding to the changes of the myriad things, without being entangled or leaning to either side.

Everyone feels they still do not have enough.

The Imperial Commentary explains: “Everyone” refers to those who crave wealth and status and pursue profit. Their desire for extravagance and indulgence is strong, while their willingness to practice restraint and simplicity is weak, so they always feel they need more. From the perspective of the Dao, however, these excesses are like eating too much or carrying extra flesh on the body.

The Minister’s Commentary explains: Everyone boasts of and accumulates external things, taking pleasure in them, and so always feels they do not have enough.

I, by contrast, seem to have lost everything.

The Imperial Commentary explains: Even if one’s accomplishments extend throughout the world, they seem not to be one’s own.

The Minister’s Commentary explains: The sage abandons external things, remains free of worldly attachments, and alone preserves their nature.

My mind is like that of a fool, unformed and simple.

The Imperial Commentary explains: Confucius once said, “I spoke with Yan Hui for an entire day, and he never contradicted me; he seemed like a fool.” To be unformed and simple means that one’s inner clarity and ingenuity are not displayed, but silently accord with the Dao. This is what may be called great wisdom.

A person of great wisdom appears foolish because he neither employs cleverness nor relies on knowledge to act deliberately. Thus he remains utterly simple and unspoiled, with no crafty thoughts. When his purity and single-mindedness reach their utmost, he silently accords with the Dao.

Everyone in the world seems clear-sighted and clever; I alone seem muddled and ignorant. Everyone in the world is keen and exacting; I alone seem dull and confused.

Emperor Huizong of Song comments: Following worldly habits, people take showing off their cleverness for wisdom, though such cleverness is shallow. They call fine-grained scrutiny wisdom, though it is merely contrived interpretation. One who transcends external things, does not follow popular customs, and takes pride in standing apart from the world appears muddled, as though barely there; he seems dull, yet possesses his own understanding. How could worldly people see through him?

Zhang’an explains: “Clear-sighted” and “keenly observant” describe worldly people using petty cleverness to seek private gain. “Muddled” and “dull” describe someone who does not employ cleverness and reaches a state in which self and things merge: he appears muddled, as if ignorant, and dull, as if unresponsive.

Calm and tranquil, like the sea in its depth and breadth.

Emperor Huizong of Song comments: The Dao is deep and still, its nature settled. This is the Dao in its complete essence.

Zhang’an explains: The sea of nature—using the sea as a metaphor for one’s original nature—is clear and still, too deep to fathom and boundless in breadth. This is the essence of the Dao.

Flowing freely, as though it had no fixed place to rest.

Emperor Huizong of Song comments: The Dao changes without end and does not remain in one place. This is how the Dao functions.

Zhang’an explains: Where there is substance, there is a place to remain. To remain somewhere is to become bound and unable to move freely. Without substance, there is no fixed place to remain; without remaining, there is no attachment, and so nothing is beyond its reach. This is the function of the Dao.

Everyone has something to rely on and some ability of their own; I alone seem stubborn and crude.

Emperor Huizong of Song comments: The cassia tree is edible, so it is cut down; the lacquer tree is useful, so it is tapped. People know the usefulness of what is useful, but do not know the usefulness of what is useless. Everyone has something to rely on and some ability of their own, while I alone seem stubborn and crude.

“Everyone has something to rely on; I alone am stubborn and crude” says again: Everyone has something to rely on and some ability of their own; I alone seem stubborn and crude.

The imperial commentary says: The fruit of the cinnamon tree can be eaten, so people cut it down; the lacquer tree yields lacquer that can be used, so people tap it. Everyone knows the value of usefulness, but no one understands that uselessness has its own value. People all have something to rely on and each has a purpose: this is the value of usefulness. I alone seem dull and lowly: this is the value of uselessness. An ancient book says that when the heart does not follow the standards of De and righteousness, it is called “stubborn.” The ancients called cities beautiful and the countryside humble. Stubborn means not deliberately displaying one’s cleverness; humble means not showing off what is beautiful. It is precisely for this reason that the spirit person is not treated as useful material.

The minister Yi says: Once confined within a particular shape or object, one is considered usable; and anything usable becomes subject to external things. An object that has been embellished appears beautiful, and is therefore more readily treated as useful and treasured. Dullness has no embellishment, and lowliness displays no beauty. This is why I appear useless in the world; it is also where my aims differ from those of conventional society.

I alone differ from everyone else: what I cherish is seeking nourishment from the mother.

The imperial commentary says: An infant clings to its mother, and a foal or calf follows its mother. What I seek is simply the Dao. The Dao gives life to all things, nurtures them as they grow, and brings them to maturity. All things depend on the Dao, just as children are raised by their mother. Seeking only the Dao is what sets me apart from those who have lost their nature amid worldly conventions.

The minister Yi says: People are born from the Dao, yet day after day they are drawn along by external things and gradually lose their original nature, without knowing to return to their source. They forget where they came from and do not know what nourishes them. That is why I cherish seeking nourishment from the mother. To seek the mother is to return to the Dao and thereby restore one’s nature; to receive nourishment from the mother is to be nourished by the Dao and preserve one’s original nature.

Chapter Twenty-One: The Form of Great De

The manifestation of great De follows only the Dao.

The imperial commentary says: The alternating transformations of Yin and Yang are called the Dao; all things receive life from it, and this is called De. The Dao is constant and nameless, and cannot be depicted in any particular form, so the De of the Dao appears wondrous and mysterious. When De takes form in the distinct shapes and qualities of all things, they are each able to receive the Dao, and the Dao is thereby made manifest. Through cultivation, human nature can return to De; when De reaches its fullest expression, it is the same as the original state of natural being. Thus, great De follows only the Dao.

The minister’s gloss, an interpretation of the scripture, says: The Dao’s mystery lies in “nonbeing”; by its very nature, it cannot be described in any concrete form. De (Virtue/Power) receives its source from the Dao, and so the Dao becomes manifest through De. De is what is obtained from the Dao. When De reaches a state identical to the original beginning, it once again becomes one with the Dao.

The Dao as a presence is indistinct and elusive.

The imperial commentary says: The Dao’s underlying nature is absolute emptiness, yet its function is profoundly mysterious. All things are born from it, so it may be called a presence; yet everything without exception is the Dao. “Indistinct” means that it seems there is an image to be seen; “elusive” means that it seems there are patterns to be inferred. Yet this “presence” is close to “nonbeing,” which is why the Dao as a presence is said to be indistinct and elusive.

The minister’s gloss says: The Dao as a presence is formed through an undivided blending, and so it is called “the thing that is no thing.” Amid indistinctness and elusiveness, there seems to be an image, but it cannot be seen; there seem to be patterns and numbers, but they cannot be inferred.

Within indistinctness and elusiveness, there seems to be an image; within indistinctness and elusiveness, there seem to be all things.

The imperial commentary says: What can be seen is called an “image”; what has a body is called a “thing.” Within indistinctness and elusiveness, images and things are already complete. This is like the vast emptiness giving rise to thunder, lightning, and wind, and like the earth giving rise to water and fire. From these, transformations take shape, setting spirits and ghosts in motion. This is the Dao’s mysterious function.

The minister’s gloss says: What is called “indistinct and elusive” can be said to be neither wholly present nor wholly absent. As one moves from elusiveness to indistinctness, an image appears: this is a passage from nonbeing into being. As one moves from indistinctness to elusiveness, all things appear: this is a return from being to nonbeing. Thunder, wind, water, and fire, as images and things, pass from nonbeing into being and from being back into nonbeing. They form transformations and set spirits and ghosts in motion, ultimately returning to the Dao. This is why it is called the Dao’s mystery.

Deep and dark, within it there is subtle Qi (vital energy).

The imperial commentary says: “Deep” means reaching the utmost depths; “dark” means that light is hidden within. Within this deep darkness lies the source of utmost Yin, and the place where “Heavenly One”—the beginning of the water Qi at the birth of Heaven and Earth—appears. From it, subtle Qi is generated.

Jing (essence) appears in the Heavenly One and is the foundation from which physical forms arise. For this reason, the discussion follows what came before about images and the myriad things. The substance of the Dao is profound and subtle, hazy and difficult to grasp, yet it presents images and gives rise to the myriad things. Within the deep darkness lies Jing and Qi, from which all things begin to emerge.

This Jing and Qi are utterly real, containing trustworthy principles. From ancient times to the present, their name has never vanished.

The Imperial Commentary says: “Jing” is the fullest expression of Heaven’s De. It is upright and free of falsity, which is why it is called “utterly real.” It is single-minded and unchanging, which is why it “contains trust.” It remains so without interruption, and therefore its name endures forever.

The Minister’s Commentary says: To be single-minded and undispersed, fully embodying Heaven’s De, is to be real to the utmost. To be single-minded and unchanging, receiving Heaven’s mandate and responding like an echo, is to be trustworthy to the utmost. From ancient times to the present, it has made no distinction between past and present, and its name has never perished. This is what is meant by “the constant name.”

If I wish to observe the origin of the myriad things, how can I know how they came into being? Through this Dao.

The Imperial Commentary says: The origins of the myriad things continually change and pass away day after day without pause, while the supremely subtle and real Dao remains forever and does not disappear. The sage cherishes Jing and Qi, and so can observe the transformations of the myriad things and understand why they are as they are. The sage’s mind is tranquil, free of thought; the sage acts without acting, inwardly unmoved. Yet, when responding to what is encountered, the sage can understand the principles of all under Heaven. The beginnings of thought and action then become apparent, and achievements shine forth in turn. If not for what is most subtle under Heaven, who could accomplish this?

The Minister’s Commentary says: “Fu” refers to the beautiful state in which the myriad things take form and become visible. Their beauty continually changes and has no constant, unchanging state, so the myriad things are always in flux. The Dao’s Jing and Qi are real, single-minded, and undispersed; they endure forever and do not perish. Through them, one can therefore understand why the myriad things are impermanent and ever changing.

Chapter Twenty-Two: By yielding, one is preserved.

By following the changes of things and rising and falling along with them, one can preserve one’s body and life from harm. The Zhuangzi says, “Those whose outward manner is yielding and accommodating can get along with everyone.”

The minister comments: If the mind does not cling to external things and has also forgotten its own body, it can respond to the changes of all things, bend with circumstances, and avoid opposing them. Then external things cannot harm it, and life can be preserved.

What bends can become straight.

The Imperial Commentary says: When abandoned, one feels no resentment; when trapped in hardship, one feels no grief. Thus the heart remains upright and does not lose its essence. The Book of Changes says, “The inchworm first bends its body in order to stretch out.”

The minister comments: One remains upright so as to be able to stretch out later. By adapting to the bends and changes of external things, rather than insisting that one’s own uprightness is right, the heart remains upright and does not lose its essence. This does not mean compromising oneself in order to become upright. If one stubbornly clings to one’s own views and refuses to adapt to change, one cannot stretch oneself out.

What lies low can become full.

The Imperial Commentary says: Because it stores nothing away, it always has room to spare.

The minister comments: Low places lie beneath others, and so water gathers there; they are often full. Though a vessel at a low point may be small, it is always filled. It stores nothing away, and so still has room to spare.

What is worn out can be renewed.

The Imperial Commentary says: If winter does not store things away securely, they cannot grow luxuriantly in spring.

The minister comments: Things decline in winter and renew themselves in spring. This is their natural pattern.

Taking little can bring gain; greed for much can bring confusion.

The Imperial Commentary says: The essentials of the Dao are simple and need no elaboration. However much one hears and learns, it is no better than grasping the essentials. If one takes fragmented, complicated material as the foundation, one will never understand it, even after a lifetime. This is called great confusion.

The minister comments: The Dao, De, nature, and life all depend on singleness of purpose, while the affairs and actions of the world are myriad and varied.

Therefore, the sage holds fast to the “One Dao” and makes it the standard for all under Heaven.

The Imperial Commentary says: The root of things is undivided, while its power to generate the myriad things is unfathomable. Only the most subtle Dao under Heaven can become the most wondrous power under Heaven. The sage holds fast to the “One Dao,” keeping the will steady, and makes it the standard for all under Heaven.

Emperor Huizong of Song said: “The Dao’s essence is undivided and does not separate; therefore, its power to bring forth and transform the myriad things is unfathomable. Only what is most subtle in the world can become what is most wondrous. The sage embraces the Great Dao and keeps to unity, allowing nothing to disturb his spirit. Thus his words can serve as the world’s standard, and his actions as the world’s model.”

A minister explained: “With fewer distracting thoughts, one can grasp the principles of nature and life; with too many, one is bewildered by the transformations of things. The sage therefore keeps to unity without turning away from human concerns. He understands the Great Dao and fully realizes his nature, bringing the distinctions between himself, the myriad things, and external things into a mysterious equality. In this way, he becomes a model for the world.”

Because he does not cling to his own views, he sees clearly.

Emperor Huizong of Song said: “When one is not obscured by one’s own views, one can discern how things are; this is clarity.”

A minister explained: “Clinging to one’s own views confines one to a narrow corner. By not clinging to them, one can accommodate and bring things together, attaining clarity.”

Because he does not insist that he is right, his reputation becomes illustrious.

Emperor Huizong of Song said: “When one does not favor one’s own judgment but follows what is right, one’s accomplishments grow great and one’s name becomes renowned. The people of the world will also place their trust in one. This is called ‘making things manifest.’”

A minister explained: “If one insists on being right, one loses the support of others. By not doing so, one can employ others. When one can employ others, one can heed sound advice; one’s accomplishments become notable and one’s work shines forth, so one’s name becomes renowned.”

Because he does not boast of his achievements, he is able to establish accomplishments.

Emperor Huizong of Song quoted the Book of Documents: “If you do not boast of your achievements, no one under Heaven can compete with you for merit.”

A minister explained: “Boasting of one’s achievements leads to complacency and arrogance, and others will not join you in bringing accomplishments to fruition.”

Because he does not display himself, he endures.

Emperor Huizong of Song quoted the Book of Documents: “If you do not rely on your own abilities, no one under Heaven can compete with you in ability.”

A minister explained: “If one displays one’s honors, others will not join one in bringing work to fruition.”

Precisely because he does not contend with others, no one under Heaven can contend with him.

Emperor Huizong of Song said: “When everyone strives to be first, he alone puts himself last, willingly accepting the world’s filth. Such a person remains in a humble position, and so no one can compete with him for victory.”

Precisely because he does not contend, no one under Heaven can contend with him.

The Imperial Commentary says: Everyone wants to get ahead. Only he is willing to remain behind and bear the world’s filth day after day. Such a person always occupies a place where there is no contention. Who, then, could contend with him?

The Minister’s Commentary says: When one has a sense of self, there will be rivalry. When one forgets the self, external things will not contend with him.

Could the ancients’ saying that “bending allows one to remain whole” really be empty talk? By bending, one can indeed preserve oneself and bring everything to completion.

The Imperial Commentary says: The sage acts like water, adapting to all things without compromising his integrity. In responding to things, he is like a carpenter’s ink line: he follows the principles at work without losing his rectitude. He knows that being lowly can bring fullness and is not burdened by pride or self-satisfaction. He also knows that what is worn out can be renewed, leaving no trace of self-display. He seems to act naturally, in accordance with his own nature, unaware that he is acting deliberately. He simply adapts as far as possible; thus he preserves himself and brings things to completion. He preserves his body and enjoys the full span of his life without being burdened by the thought that his life will end. Such a person is called one whose De is complete. Could these words really be empty talk?

The Minister’s Commentary says: Let go of the self, and you can move freely through the world; bend and adapt, and you can respond in accordance with the principles at work. Following the changes of all things and aligning with the Dao’s natural course, without opposing external things, is to attain the Dao in its fullness. Neither promoting yourself nor insisting that you are right, neither boasting nor acting superior—ultimately, not contending: all these are expressions of bending and adapting. His radiance and De become evident of themselves, and his achievements endure of themselves, until no one under Heaven can contend with him. This may be called truly preserving oneself and bringing things to completion. Because he can do this, he preserves his body and enjoys the full span of his life, without anxiety or burden over life’s end.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Few Words Are Natural

Few words accord with nature.

The Imperial Commentary says: “His achievements endure until no one under Heaven can contend with him. This may be called truly preserving oneself and bringing things to completion. Because he can do this, he preserves his body and enjoys the full span of his life, without anxiety or burden over life’s end.”

Chapter Twenty-Three: Few Words Are Natural

Few words accord with nature.

Emperor Huizong’s commentary says: “Rare” means standing apart from all things, beyond them, and opposed to nothing. What Liezi calls “solitary doubt” refers to this very state. Remove cunning schemes and deliberate contrivance, follow the natural order of Heaven, and seek nothing from external things; this is why it is called “spontaneous.”

The minister’s explanation says: “Rare” means keeping apart from external things and not joining with them. Thus one can stand beyond all things, opposed to nothing. “Spontaneous” means being so without relying on external causes. What depends on something else is contrived; what depends on nothing outside itself follows the natural order of Heaven. Therefore, one must remove cunning and contrivance, follow the natural order, and seek nothing from external things.

A gale cannot blow for a whole morning, and a downpour cannot last all day. What brings about such wind and rain? Heaven and Earth. If even the wind and rain brought about by Heaven and Earth cannot endure, how can a person sustain forced and contrived actions for long?

Emperor Huizong’s commentary says: Heaven and Earth nurture and transform the myriad things. Wind helps them spread and grow, allowing each form to change of itself; rain moistens them, allowing them to grow of themselves. Heaven and Earth do not deliberately add to life or force the myriad things to maturity. The things of the world thus develop naturally between Heaven and Earth, and so they endure. Gales and downpours, by contrast, are calamities caused by Yin-Yang falling out of balance. Some force must be making them so, and the myriad things are harmed as a result; therefore, they cannot last.

The minister’s explanation says: Wind opens things up and brings about their changes; rain moistens them and benefits them. When the climate is mild and the seasons are in harmony, things are simply allowed to change and grow of themselves, and so they endure. Gales and downpours, by contrast, are excessively forceful and violent. They disrupt the harmony of Yin-Yang and go against the seasons, thereby harming the myriad things. If even the wind and rain brought about by Heaven and Earth cannot last for a whole morning or an entire day, how much less can a person? This makes clear that one should return to the principle that “few words accord with the spontaneous.”

Therefore, those who engage in the Dao: cultivators of the Dao unite with the Dao; cultivators of De unite with De; and those who lose the Dao unite with loss. Those who unite with the Dao can endure. This, too, shows that one should return to the principle that “few words accord with the spontaneous.”

Those devoted to cultivating the Dao become one with the Dao; those devoted to cultivating De become one with De; those who lose the right way become one with loss. Those who become one with the Dao are received by the Dao; those who become one with De are received by De; those who become one with loss are received by loss.

The Imperial Commentary says: One who reaches “the Unseen”—the realm of the Dao, which is without sound or form and difficult to describe—no longer deliberately does anything. In silence and formlessness, they awaken alone and become one with the Dao, without mixing with external things. At that point, even De is difficult to speak of, much less being burdened by loss. Some people simply do not understand that all things arise naturally. They regard the Dao as difficult to know and difficult to practice, as though it were too high to climb or too far away to reach. So they exhaust their minds and bodies in pursuit of cultivating the Dao. Some cling to one side, others are trapped in one corner, and the arts of the Dao are thereby divided. Those who become one with the Dao return to the Dao; those who become one with De return to De; those who become one with loss return to loss. If one cannot freely experience what one has gained, then what is called gain may in fact become loss.

The Minister’s Commentary says: The Dao means forgetting the distinction between self and things, and resting in solitary awareness amid boundless emptiness, returning to the enduring state of nothingness. The Dao is merely a name imposed for convenience; what is there to pursue deliberately? The moment one pursues it or acts with intention, one departs from the Dao and falls into the realm of formed things and human contrivance. People think the Dao difficult to know and difficult to practice, and so they strive to become one with it. With gain and loss in their hearts, they worry and ponder, exhaust their bodies, and even bustle about throughout their lives, wearing away their innate nature without knowing to return to it. They thus treat the Dao, De, and loss as goals to be pursued, bending themselves to the task in order to become one with them. What they gain in the end is precisely loss, and they cannot accord with the realm of “the Unseen.”

When trust is insufficient, distrust arises.

The Imperial Commentary says: With trust, one makes no arbitrary distinctions. To judge on one’s own what is true or false—to regard the Dao as true and external things as false—is a sign of insufficient trust. This leads each person to cling to what they believe they have gained, yet what is gained ultimately returns to loss and cannot accord with the realm of “the Unseen.”

When trust is insufficient, distrust arises.

“Faith” means being genuine and free of delusion. If one takes the Dao to be real and all things to be illusory, one has not truly understood “faith,” and so one will doubt. The “great” and the “small” spoken of by people such as Huishi and Han Fei both derive from the Dao. The Dao manifests itself through the contrast between “great” and “small,” and so it can be explained by names. The Dao’s subtle mystery is deep and hidden; its centered and upright aspect is vast and clear.

The minister’s commentary explains: The Dao’s essential nature is constant, without form or name, and so it originally has no name. Because nothing lies beyond its reach, it is called “Dao”; because it encompasses everything, it is provisionally called “great.”

“Great” is called “far-ranging”—“far-ranging” means moving ceaselessly without coming to a halt.

The imperial commentary says: It moves without stopping, and so is called “far-ranging.”

The minister’s commentary explains: It is vast without limit, with nowhere it cannot reach, and so is called “far-ranging.”

“Far-ranging” is called “remote.”

The imperial commentary says: The Dao responds to all things without end, and so is called “remote.”

The minister’s commentary explains: It moves without ceasing, and therefore its responses to all things are also without end.

“Remote” is called “returning.”

The imperial commentary says: To return to the root is called “stillness.” Once still, one again recovers one’s original heavenly mandate, and so this is called “returning.” When the centered and upright essence of the Dao displays its quality of “greatness,” it pervades and contains all things without distinction or change. To speak of the Dao as “remote” is to say that it has no boundaries. Movement returns to stillness, activity gives way to rest, and all cycles of going and returning come back to the Dao without departing from their nature. This is also what the Yi means when it says, “Viewed from nearby, it is still and upright.”

The minister’s commentary explains: Because it moves without ceasing, it is vast and remote. Since it is remote, it must ultimately return. To return is to go back to the Dao.

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

The imperial commentary says: The Dao covers and supports Heaven and Earth. Heaven covers everything; Earth supports everything. The king stands between Heaven and Earth, alongside them as the third, and so is also great.

The minister’s commentary explains: Heaven and Earth cover and support all things, and all things lie within the Dao’s scope. The king stands between Heaven and Earth, assisting them in bringing what is fitting to completion. He stands alongside them as the third, and so is also great.

My understanding is this: Heaven covers the earth and sustains the myriad things; both embody the Dao (the Way). The ruler stands between Heaven and Earth, assisting them in bringing about what is fitting and nurturing the myriad things. Heaven governs the earth, and the Dao governs Heaven; none of these four is unimportant.

Between Heaven and Earth are four great beings, and the ruler is one of them.

The Imperial Commentary says: From the Dao downward, the world of directions and forms comes into being; this is why it is called “the realm.” When still, the sage embodies sacred virtue; when active, he becomes a ruler. The ruler connects the Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and humanity—and puts the human way into practice; hence he is called a ruler. He accords with the Dao and shares the functions of Heaven and Earth, so he too is called “great.”

The Minister’s Commentary says: The Dao enables the myriad things to become what they are, yet it is not any particular thing. For the myriad things, it is like the source on which their coming into being depends; this is how the Dao is present within them. Thus the Dao, Heaven and Earth, and the ruler all remain within “the realm.”

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

The Imperial Commentary says: “Humanity” here refers to the ruler. Heaven does not produce things directly, yet the myriad things transform of themselves; Earth does not grow things directly, yet the myriad things are nurtured. When the emperors and kings govern through Wuwei (non-action), affairs throughout the realm can be brought to completion smoothly. What the ruler takes as his model is the Dao’s vastness.

The Imperial Commentary also says: The ruler takes Earth as his model, Earth takes Heaven as its model, Heaven takes the Dao as its model, and the Dao takes what is natural as its model. Heaven does not produce things directly, yet the myriad things come into being; Earth does not grow things directly, yet the myriad things are nurtured. The emperors and kings govern through Wuwei, and the realm’s work is accomplished; what they model themselves on is simply the Dao’s naturalness. The Dao takes what is natural as its model because it responds to the myriad things. Naturalness is not the whole of the Dao. Only when the Dao manifests to respond to the myriad things does it take what is natural as its model.

The Minister’s Commentary says: When a thing accords with other things and follows its own condition naturally, “the natural” stands above particular things but remains below the Dao; it cannot represent the Dao in its entirety. Only when the Dao manifests to respond to the myriad things does it take what is natural as its model. Each of the four takes something as its model, with no order of precedence; none knows where they first came from.

The foundation of the heavy is the light; the master of the still is the restless

What is weighty and steady is the foundation of what is light and unsteady; what is calm and composed is the master of what is restless and rash. Therefore, the gentleman travels all day without leaving his baggage train—the wagons carrying provisions and supplies on a military expedition, here signifying a steady and reliable foundation.

The Imperial Commentary says: What is steady is not easily shaken or taken away, and so becomes the foundation of what is light; what is calm does not act recklessly and can exercise restraint, and so can master the restless. By governing oneself through calm and steadiness, one makes few mistakes. The gentleman travels all day without leaving his baggage train; for this reason, even when traveling along dangerous roads, he can avoid misfortune.

The meaning of the phrase “the minister says” is this: what is heavy and steady can bear what is light and restless, but what is light and restless cannot bear what is heavy and steady. Thus steadiness is the foundation; with a foundation in place, one’s actions can be properly measured. Stillness can subdue agitation, but agitation cannot subdue stillness. Thus stillness takes the leading role, and agitation can then be brought to rest.

A gentleman does not leave his baggage cart—the vehicle that carries supplies for a journey—even for a day’s travel. This means remaining steady at all times. How could one act carelessly? A steady person is not prone to reckless action. Without reckless action, thought can be focused; with focused thought, one can consider matters thoroughly; and with thorough consideration, one can act without danger. A traveler relies on the baggage cart for supplies, so cannot leave it behind. When the mind is steady, external things seem light. Then the desires of the ears and eyes cannot disturb one, power and status cannot sway one, and even life and death cannot change one. What, then, is there to fear, even when traveling a dangerous road?

Even when beautiful sights are before you, be at ease within yourself and remain detached.

The Imperial Commentary says: Beautiful sights belong to external things, while a comfortable dwelling concerns oneself. Only when one is at peace within can one truly enjoy external things.

The meaning of the phrase “the minister says” is this: Those who crave external things care only about pleasing the outside world, so their minds are drawn along by beautiful sights. Those who nourish themselves through simplicity gather a calm and balanced Qi (vital energy), and so their body and mind rest peacefully in their own dwelling. Therefore, even with beautiful sights before them, they value being at ease within themselves and detached from the world beyond.

As the ruler of a state with ten thousand chariots, how can one treat the affairs of the realm and one’s own responsibilities lightly?

The Imperial Commentary says: The realm is a weighty responsibility. One who possesses it should remain vigilant, as if driving six horses with a rotten rope. Therefore, one cannot treat the realm lightly.

The meaning of the phrase “the minister says” is this: The ruler bears the weight of the realm alone, and so must not act carelessly.

Carelessness loses the respect of the ministers; agitation loses the dignity of a ruler.

The Imperial Commentary says: If one’s bearing is not steady, one has no dignity and will lose the respect of the ministers. If one does not issue commands first but merely echoes others, one oversteps the distinction between ruler and minister and loses the position proper to a ruler.

The minister explained: By remaining calm and still, one can exercise restraint. When ruler and minister each keep to their own Dao, order can be established.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Skillful Conduct

Those who are skillful at walking leave no wheel tracks or footprints.

The Imperial Commentary says: Their spiritual workings remain deeply concealed, yet wherever they go, things are transformed naturally. Thus, they leave no trace.

The minister explained: To reach one’s goal without deliberately acting is to be skillful in one’s conduct. The Dao moves naturally throughout the world. I do not act recklessly, and so I leave no trace. In the age of highest De (Virtue)—the ideal time when virtue was pure and abundant—the worthy were not exalted, nor were the capable deliberately appointed. The ruler rested serenely, like the tip of a tree branch, while the people lived freely, like deer in the wild. Subtle transformations through teaching took place without anyone noticing. What trace could they leave?

Those who are skillful at speaking use words free of flaws and errors.

The Imperial Commentary says: They accord with the natural limits of things and adapt as circumstances change; thus their words are free of flaws. The excellence of conduct and speech begins with careful deliberation and ends by transforming things. Only sages are skillful in conduct and speech, attaining the subtle art of transforming all things. Their actions therefore leave no trace to follow, and nothing they say gives cause for reproach.

The minister explained: To make people understand without speaking is to be skillful in expression. Speaking little leaves no fault in one’s words. The sage restrains his own cleverness and insight, using the strings of beads and jade ornaments on his crown—hanging before and behind to screen sight and hearing—so that the people of the world may observe and listen on his behalf. He sits upright and governs with his robes hanging loose, and the people’s affairs are properly carried out. Has Heaven ever spoken? The four seasons continue their cycles, and all things continue to grow.

Those who are skillful at calculation use no counting rods or other calculating devices.

The Imperial Commentary says: When one understands that all things return to a single principle, one can handle them all—how much more so things that change without end? Thus, no calculating devices are needed; even the many and shifting patterns are as clear as counting one and two.

The minister explained: When one deeply understands that all things return to a single principle and follows the natural Dao, one can respond clearly even to affairs that are numerous and confused. What need is there for calculation? This is skillful planning.

Those who are skillful at closing a door need no bolt to keep it from opening.

The imperial commentary says: Gather the mind and spirit, and let them rest quietly in the depths. The minister’s explanation says: Do not chase after what is seen and heard outside. Draw the mind and spirit back and let them settle in inner clarity. Then spirit and breath can recover, and the breath can accord with the Dao. This is what it means to be skilled at keeping things concealed within oneself. Stop improper thoughts before they arise; cut off harmful thoughts before they take shape, so that unwholesome thoughts have no chance to emerge. This is also what it means to be skilled at keeping things concealed in relation to the world outside.

Those skilled at tying knots use no rope, yet what they bind is so secure that it cannot be undone.

The imperial commentary says: If something is secure only because it has been tightly bound with rope, then its original nature has been harmed. Sometimes a person need not speak; a calm breath alone can move others. Simply living alongside people can also change them. This is how to bind things skillfully in the world outside: without using rope to restrain them, one can make the bond firm and lasting. Who could undo it?

The minister’s explanation says: When those in high positions win the trust of all under Heaven through complete sincerity, everyone comes to trust them. The elderly are then at ease, and the young are cared for. Who could dissolve such trust?

Therefore, the sage is always skilled at helping people, and so no one is abandoned; always skilled at helping things, and so nothing is cast aside.

The imperial commentary says: “Goodness” is a continuation of the Dao. When one accords with the Dao, there is no “goodness” to speak of. Once the name “goodness” is established, the Dao is revealed, and goodness is used to govern the world. The sage understands the Great Dao and uses it to aid all under Heaven. Thus the sage embodies the five kinds of skill described above, ultimately ensuring that neither people nor things are abandoned.

Yet the sage cares for people and benefits all things, allowing them to thrive and grow and everyone to live out their nature—not through deliberate effort. The sage simply returns to purity and oneness, leaves no trace of human contrivance, and follows the original condition of things. When the world loses the Dao, everyone under Heaven loses the calm, still, enduring nature they once had, and sinks day by day into sorrow and hardship. If not the sage, who could help them?

The minister’s explanation says: The sage understands the Great Dao and follows Wuwei, transforming all under Heaven through spirit. The sage puts the five kinds of skill described above into practice, helping people before they fall ill and protecting things before they are harmed. No trace of this help is made visible, and the people do not know who has helped them. They simply each live at ease.

This is called “inheriting the light.”

The Imperial Commentary says: “‘Inheriting’ means expressing oneself without display. When the light is held within and not flaunted, this is called ‘inheriting the light.’”

The Minister’s Commentary explains: I do not reveal why I act as I do, so others do not know the reason behind it. Thus, inheriting the five good practices mentioned earlier is called “inheriting the light.”

Therefore, the good person is the teacher of the person who is not good; the person who is not good is a mirror for the good person.

The Imperial Commentary says: “‘Mirror’ means something from which one gains benefit. It is precisely because there is what is not good that we recognize the value of what is good.”

The Minister’s Commentary explains: Through goodness, we can see what is not good in others, so the good person is the teacher of the “person who is not good.” Through what is not good, we can see the goodness in others, so the person who is not good can also serve as a mirror for the good person.

Do not esteem your teacher, and do not cherish your mirror.

The Imperial Commentary says: Everyone under Heaven takes goodness to be good, and from this arises rigid discrimination. If goodness and what is not good are no longer clung to as opposites, there is no need to rely on one to understand the other.

The Imperial Commentary also says: If goodness and what is not good are both forgotten, and the mind holds no distinctions, what is there to esteem or cherish? This is why the sage can become one with all things.

The Minister’s Commentary explains: Once good and evil are sharply divided, thoughts of sincerity and deceit, along with the impulse to discriminate, arise, and governing the world becomes difficult. Therefore, by neither esteeming nor cherishing, one can let go of both good and evil. When both return to the One, profound De (mysterious and natural virtue) is made whole.

Even those who think themselves wise may fall into great bewilderment. This is the subtle essence of the Dao.

The Imperial Commentary says: The subtle essence of the Dao does not lie in failing to see the various good practices, but in making no distinctions through cleverness. The Seven Sages once lost their way and could not find anyone to ask for directions; this accords with the meaning here.

The Minister’s Commentary explains: With discriminating knowledge, one becomes attached to particular things and loses sight of the wonder of “no thing.” Thus, though one may call oneself wise, one can be deeply bewildered when it comes to the Great Dao. The Dao’s subtle foundation lies precisely here, and so it is called the “subtle essence.”

This concludes Scroll Four of Emperor Huizong’s Explanatory Commentary on the Dao De Jing.

Emperor Huizong’s Explanatory Commentary on the Dao De Jing, Scroll Five

Explanatory commentary by Zhang An, Gentleman for Service

Dao Jing

“Know the Masculine” Chapter, No. 28

Know what is masculine and strong, yet hold to the feminine and yielding; then you can become the ravine of the world. As the ravine of the world, your constant De will never depart, and you will return to the uncarved simplicity of an infant.

Emperor Huizong of the Song explained: The male prevails over other things through strength, while the female is gentle and still. The sage understands how to prevail over external things, yet keeps himself in a state of gentleness and stillness. All things turn toward him and receive nourishment from him without ever being depleted. This is what it means to become the valley of the world. A valley lies low, and all waters flow toward it. The sage does not assert his strength but remains humble and lowly. Thus his De and nature always accord and never separate; this is called “complete De.” Hence the saying, “When constant De does not depart, one returns to infancy.” An infant’s breath is calm and unagitated, and its nature is pure and whole, not yet dispersed. Mencius said, “The great person does not lose the heart of an infant.”

The court official Zhang An explained: The male belongs to Yang, and so is active and strong; the female belongs to Yin, and so is still and gentle. Activity means taking action, while stillness takes preservation as its foundation. To remain still while acting is to understand the way of the male and strong, yet to act at the proper time. Only stillness can restrain action; therefore, one holds to the way of the female and gentle, without prevailing through strength. The female is gentle and still, and treats others with humility, so all things in motion turn toward her. She is like a valley that receives flowing water and nourishes all things without seeming depleted. De endures and remains steady, unified and undispersed. When stillness reaches its utmost, it can restrain action. One holds to the way of the female and gentle, without prevailing through strength. To return in this way to infancy is to restore De to its original state.

Know what is bright, yet hold to what is dark, and you can become a model for the world. As a model for the world, your constant De will not deviate, and in the end you will return to the Limitless—the boundless, inexhaustible state.

The Imperial Commentary says: White serves as a metaphor for manifest virtue, while black serves as a metaphor for returning to the Dao. The sage makes his virtue clear and evident, while silently remaining in accord with the Dao, without a flaw. All under Heaven take him as their model and gladly esteem him without tiring, so he becomes a pattern for all under Heaven. He is upright and does not act recklessly; his trustworthiness is as regular as the turning of the seasons, never in error. Such virtue cannot be exhausted and has no end. Hence it is said that constant virtue does not deviate and ultimately returns to the limitless—the state without boundary or end. The “Great Plan” chapter of the Book of Documents speaks of the kingly way and says it should attain the “Supreme Standard”; Laozi speaks of becoming a pattern for all under Heaven and says one should return to the limitless. “Standard” is the norm of what is centered and upright. The “Supreme Standard” means that virtue is expressed in concrete affairs, taking what is centered and upright as its measure. The “limitless” means that virtue returns to the Dao, whose depth and reach cannot be bounded.

The Minister’s Commentary says: White has not yet been stained by other colors; beneath the light of Heaven, it appears bright and clear. Black is difficult to alter; it returns to what is hidden and profound, silently in accord with the Dao. Therefore, one should keep to the dark and quiet within, while also understanding what is bright and clear. To understand what is manifest yet keep to what is quiet is to let go of oneself and refrain from imposing one’s own cleverness through forceful action. By remaining inwardly focused and undivided, one comes into accord with the Dao. Make this the pattern for all under Heaven, and hold to it over time without deviation, just as cold and heat alternate: this is the movement of the Way of Heaven, not driven by force. To return to the limitless means that, if it is called the “Supreme Standard,” it does not depart from what is centered and upright; if it is called “limitless,” there is nowhere it cannot reach. To reach everywhere is precisely the state of returning to the Dao.

Know what is glorious, yet willingly keep to what is low; then you can become the valley of all under Heaven—the place that receives all things and draws them together. Become the valley of all under Heaven, and constant virtue will be complete; ultimately, you will return to the uncarved—what is natural and unadorned.

The Imperial Commentary says: Apart from a person’s nature and life, everything else is an external thing. People of the world regard gain as glory and loss as disgrace, security as glory and hardship as disgrace. Only the sage sees glory and disgrace as equal and harbors no desire to seek favor. Yet to avoid deliberately pursuing luxury while taking frugality as a guiding rule is still merely to cling rigidly to one side. So one should be like the valley of the world. The valley is empty, yet can receive all things; it responds to them, yet does not store or possess them. When De (Virtue/Power) reaches this state, it is complete to the utmost and can grow no further. Hence it is said that enduring De is fullness. The Uncarved Block—the unworked, whole, original state—is the entirety of the Dao. To take returning to the Uncarved Block as one’s guiding rule is likewise to cling rigidly to one side, so one should be like the valley of the world. The valley is empty and can receive; it responds without possessing. When De reaches this state, it is complete and without lack. Hence it is said that enduring De is fullness. The Uncarved Block is the entirety of the Dao; only by returning to it can one embody the Dao. “Lonely,” “bereft,” and “unworthy”—humble terms by which ancient rulers referred to themselves—were names for those of low status, yet dukes and kings used them for themselves. Thus, by holding fast to the plain and original, one can win the allegiance of all under Heaven.

The Minister Yi’s explanation says: The sage lives with an empty mind and understands that although external things can bring glory, they are not worth coveting. He is content to remain low, does not contend to be ahead of other things, and does not act rashly first; he simply responds to what comes from outside. This is why he is like the valley of the world. His mind is empty, and his responses are inexhaustible. De that reaches this state is enough to nurture all things, yet reveals neither an end nor a beginning. This is the fullness of De. The Uncarved Block is the whole and undivided state of the myriad things, as well as the substance of the Dao. Only after embodying the Dao can one return to the original simplicity.

When the Uncarved Block is divided, it becomes vessels.

The Imperial Commentary says: What is above form is called the Dao; what is below form is called a vessel. Once something becomes a vessel, it has a specific shape and name, as well as its own limits and function. The Dao is whole and undivided, with Heaven, Earth, and humanity united as one. Vessels emerge through the division of this whole, and Heaven, Earth, and humanity thereby become two distinct sides.

The Minister Yi’s explanation says: The myriad things in their whole and undivided state are called the Uncarved Block; when divided and made available for specific uses, they are called vessels. Once the Uncarved Block is divided, the wholeness of the Dao is differentiated; when things become vessels, each takes on its own function.

The sage who applies this principle can become the leader of all officials.

The imperial commentary says: When the Dao is whole and undivided, the sage uses it to cultivate himself. When the Dao disperses, the sage relies on it to govern the realm. Once things take shape, they can be named; when each has its own function, each can carry out its proper duties. Thus the sage assigns offices and directs those under him so that the realm may be governed. This is what an official in authority does. The Book of Changes says, “One who can perceive what is subtle and discern what is manifest, who understands the yielding and the firm, is someone people look up to.” This conveys the same idea.

The minister’s commentary explains: When the Dao is whole, it appears in a simple, undivided state; this is the aspect in which all things share the same nature. The diverse forms and functions of things, by contrast, reflect their differing capacities. The sage assigns offices and directs those under him, becoming a leader of officials. The key is to place each person according to their abilities.

Thus, good governance does not divide the whole.

The imperial commentary says: The sage responds to change and adjusts things, allowing every form to find what suits it. Though able to shape all things with care, the sage does not display the artifice of human embellishment.

The minister’s commentary explains: The sage assigns duties according to people’s abilities, making them leaders among the officials. In governing the realm, the sage follows what is natural, refrains from contrived action, and does not use force.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Seeking to Possess

If one seeks to take possession of the realm and govern it according to one’s own will, I believe this will ultimately prove impossible.

The imperial commentary says: The realm is an immense whole. Whoever possesses such an immense whole cannot treat it like an ordinary object and manipulate it at will. Only by refraining from imposing human control on all things can one allow each thing to serve its purpose. Only someone who understands that the ruler of all things is not an object to be manipulated, and who does not govern the realm by force, may be entrusted with governing it. If one seeks to take possession of the realm and rule it according to one’s own will, one will rely on schemes and force, moving further from success. Therefore, the sage lets the Dao’s transforming influence run its course and does not exalt schemes or force. The Qin dynasty lost the realm through its reliance on force; perhaps this is what the saying refers to.

The minister’s commentary explains: What one seizes may be seized away in turn; what one forces into action may be ruined as a result. The realm is called the “sacred vessel”—a great thing that human power cannot manipulate at will. It cannot be seized by the scheming, nor brought about by the forceful. The sage harbors no desire to control and returns to Wuwei (non-action), so the people of the realm willingly support him and do not grow weary of him.

All-under-Heaven is a wondrous whole that cannot be possessed through human effort. Those who seek to seize and own it may have it taken from them by external things; those who try to force events may have them ruined by external things. All-under-Heaven is called the “Spirit Vessel” (shenqi): it cannot be seized by someone driven by private interests, nor controlled through force. The sage harbors no private aims and returns to Wuwei (non-action), so the people of All-under-Heaven gladly raise him to leadership and never grow weary of him.

“Spirit Vessel” means that what is bounded by physical form, number, and direction, and exists between Heaven and Earth, is a vessel. Yet it rests on what cannot be measured and moves without a fixed direction. Forceful action leads to failure; clinging to control leads to loss. That is why it is called the “Spirit Vessel.”

A commentator explains: “Spirit” is not something with physical form, while a “vessel” is not wholly formless. Whether formed or formless, neither can be firmly grasped by people. Only those who have realized the Dao (the Way) can grasp its essential meaning. This cannot be achieved or possessed through strategy or strength.

Only what is not confined by particular things can encompass all things and bring each activity into its proper order; only then can All-under-Heaven be at peace. Thus All-under-Heaven cannot be seized through private cunning or force. Only those who have realized the Dao can accord with it. Those in positions of authority must practice Wuwei if they are to let All-under-Heaven function fully.

A commentator explains: Those caught within the limits of particular things will be governed by what is not confined to vessels. When one acts through Wuwei, All-under-Heaven can be put to use.

“To force things and thereby fail” means that those who know only how to act energetically, but not how to practice Wuwei, will find their intelligence trapped. The Zhuangzi says, “Excessive knowledge leads to ruin.” A commentator explains: Those who force things through strength will eventually exhaust that strength; once their strength is depleted, their efforts will fail.

“To cling to control and thereby lose” means that the Dao depends on responding to the time. If one clings rigidly to what does not change, one will miss shifts in circumstances, and this is to go against the Dao. A commentator explains: Circumstances continually move and never stand still; the Dao changes along with them. If one is rigid and unresponsive, one loses the benefit of acting in accord with the time.

Therefore, some things move ahead while others follow; some breathe out gently while others breathe in forcefully; some are strong while others are weak; some rise while others are destroyed.

All things move forward and follow, like the sun and moon taking turns in their courses. They breathe in and out, like the seasons succeeding one another. They wax and wane, like the Qi of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) increasing and diminishing in turn. They bear, gather, and are destroyed. These changes are the natural course of things.

Emperor Huizong of Song comments: Plants and trees, too, have their seasons of flowering and withering. All things are governed by the seasons and limited by the course of their Qi, and so cannot avoid being burdened by them. Only the sage is not bound by external things and can stand apart from all things, independent and free. He comes and goes alone, unrestrained; this is called “being alone.” Such a person may be called the most honored. Thus, when he makes use of the fundamental power on which all things depend—the “sacred vessel”—he remains composed and at ease. Though the forms of all things differ, his mind remains calm and constant.

The minister’s commentary, an explanation offered by a subject on the imperial commentary, says: Where there is advance, there is also following; where there is inhalation, there is also exhalation; where there is flourishing, there is also decline; where there is bearing, there is also destruction. This is the natural pattern of things. The sage is not burdened by external things and stands apart from all things. Therefore, he does not shift along with their changes and can make skillful use of the “sacred vessel.”

Therefore, the sage rids himself of extremes, extravagance, and excess.

Emperor Huizong of Song comments: The sage sees that all things are constantly changing and understands that self-satisfaction and self-aggrandizement bring only many burdens. Therefore, he does nothing that does not benefit life, does not indulge his desires, and does not pursue excessive extremes; he acts freely only within the bounds of what is reasonable. How, then, could he fail through reckless action or lose through attachment? Thus, elaborate embellishment and superficial show are of no benefit to governance.

The minister’s commentary says: The sage understands that all things undergo changes of advance and retreat, inhalation and exhalation, strength and weakness, bearing and destruction, and cannot remain constant. He therefore knows that extremes turn into their opposite, extravagance brings hardship, and excess leads to negation and decline. He works to eliminate these practices and does not let self-satisfaction and self-aggrandizement become burdens.

Chapter Thirty: Assisting the Ruler with the Dao

Those who assist a ruler through the Dao do not use military force to assert their strength over the world.

The Emperor’s Commentary says: Mobilizing armies and using weapons belong to the lesser matters of De (Virtue/Power). They are called lesser matters because, although the ancients sometimes went to war, they did not put it first. One who assists a ruler through the Dao need only devote himself to the root; he does not rely on military force to dominate the world.

A minister explains: Weapons are inauspicious instruments and can only serve as an aid to rule through De. The sage uses force only when there is no other choice, so warfare is a lesser matter of rule through De. If a course of action does not accord with the way of Yao and Shun, one would not dare to present it to the ruler. Thus one should assist the ruler through the Dao.

Acting through force inevitably brings a corresponding consequence.

The Emperor’s Commentary says: This is just as Mencius said: “What you do to others will return to you.”

A minister explains: Strength will eventually turn to weakness; this is the course of things. And how could the power gained by taking the world through military force possibly be maintained forever?

Where armies have been stationed, the fields grow thick with thornbushes; after a great war, years of famine often follow.

The Emperor’s Commentary says: Those above deprive the people of their labor, and so the fields grow thornbushes. They go against the timing of Heaven, and so famine follows. The Book of Songs says: “May the realm be brought to peace, and may harvests be abundant year after year.” When the realm is at peace, the people live in harmony; when the people live in harmony, Heaven and Earth respond in kind.

A minister explains: Wherever armies are stationed, the people’s livelihoods and property are ruined, and the fields grow thick with thornbushes. After a great war, the force of killing harms the harmonious Qi of Heaven and Earth, throwing Yin-Yang out of balance; famine then follows.

Therefore, one who is skilled in using force seeks only to achieve what is necessary and does not dare to dominate by military power.

The Emperor’s Commentary says: In carrying out an undertaking, one seeks only to do what is fitting; in establishing a work, one seeks only to bring it to completion. To use little force and achieve much is the way of the sage. Overcoming others through brute strength is called a cruel form of De. Thus victory in war depends on those above and below sharing one purpose, not on having greater numbers.

A minister explains: To seize what one wants through boldness and insist on victory is what ordinary people call “decisiveness.” The sage does not dare to seize things by force, yet can refrain from boasting, claiming credit, or becoming arrogant. The sage uses force only when there is no other choice.

To achieve one’s purpose without claiming superiority, to achieve it without boasting of one’s accomplishments, and to achieve it without becoming arrogant: to use force only when there is no other choice—this is to accomplish something without resorting to domination.

When things develop to a certain point, they decline; this change cannot be avoided. The way the sage acts is like the use of an army: moderation brings good fortune, and acting in accordance with the right way brings no fault. The sage responds only when there is no other choice, with the sole aim of bringing things to completion. Boasting cannot last; self-praise earns no merit; arrogance is not worthy of esteem. Understanding these four points makes it possible to accomplish things without forcing a contest for victory.

The minister Yi says: By firmly refusing to vaunt oneself, one can develop one’s abilities. By firmly refusing to boast, one can accomplish great deeds. By refusing to be arrogant, one avoids complacency and is better able to prevail. By acting only when there is no other choice, one avoids rashness and responds well to changing circumstances. If one can do this, accomplishments will follow naturally. Why insist on them?

When things reach the height of their strength, they move toward decline.

The Imperial Commentary says: This can be seen in the changes from summer’s growth to autumn’s withering.

The minister Yi says: After flourishing comes decline; such is the transformation of all things.

This is called being contrary to the Dao (the Way).

The Imperial Commentary says: The Dao has neither end nor beginning and does not change along with the myriad things.

The minister Yi says: The Dao works through weakness and softness, and so remains unchanged through past and present. The myriad things wear themselves out by striving to be strong; their transformations of birth and death are contrary to the Dao.

What is contrary to the Dao will soon perish.

The Imperial Commentary says: Departing from the Dao gives rise to the distinction between flourishing strength and decline.

The minister Yi says: The body can survive only by following the Dao; depart from the Dao, and it will soon perish.

“Fine Weapons,” Chapter 31

Sharp weapons are inauspicious objects. The myriad things often detest them, so a person who has the Dao does not use them as everyday tools.

The Imperial Commentary says: Auspicious events have auspicious omens; weapons are instruments of misfortune, so they are called inauspicious. Weapons are kept in storage during ordinary times and used only when there is no other choice. A person who has the Dao makes their virtue manifest and does not flaunt military might, so they do not rely on weapons in daily life.

I explained: “Places where armies have been stationed often become overgrown with thorny plants. After a great war, years of famine are sure to follow. Such are the calamities brought by weapons, and that is why people loathe them. Those who have attained the Dao do not rely on them in their daily lives.”

Thus, the gentleman honors the left in ordinary times, but honors the right when employing troops. Weapons are inauspicious things, not what a gentleman esteems.

The Imperial Commentary explains: The left belongs to Yang and governs life; the right belongs to Yin and governs killing. Yang represents virtue, while Yin represents punishment. The gentleman esteems virtue and stands in awe of punishment; hence it is said that weapons are not what a gentleman esteems.

I explained: Yang takes nurturing life as its virtue, and so the left is honored; Yin takes killing and warfare as its punishment, and so the right is honored. To exalt killing is to treat weapons as auspicious; to exalt virtue is what a gentleman esteems.

When it is unavoidable to use weapons, it is best to remain calm and detached. Thus, war is not regarded as something beautiful. If one regards war as beautiful, one will inevitably take pleasure in waging it; to take pleasure in waging war is to take pleasure in killing people.

The Imperial Commentary explains: Violence is restrained and disorder is quelled; action is taken only when there is no other choice. Hence the phrase “unavoidable.” The mind is free of an obsession with victory, which is why calm detachment is held to be best. Since one does not insist on victory, employing troops cannot be a source of pleasure; therefore, war is not regarded as beautiful.

I explained: To stop killing with killing is truly a last resort. The use of troops is nothing to celebrate, so war is not called beautiful. Since war is not regarded as beautiful, one should remain calm and detached.

Those who take pleasure in killing cannot realize their aims under Heaven.

The Imperial Commentary explains: If a ruler esteems benevolence, no one under Heaven can oppose him. To treat danger as safety and calamity as advantage, and to become absorbed in what will bring about one’s own ruin, is to invite resentment and amass calamity.

I explained: Taking pleasure in killing is an extreme expression of inhumanity. The inhumane therefore become addicted to killing and warfare, leaving the people nowhere to turn for a chance to live. They become the source where resentment and calamity gather.

For auspicious affairs, the left is honored; for inauspicious affairs, the right is honored. Thus, the deputy general stands on the left, and the supreme general stands on the right. This means that one who holds the position of commander should treat warfare according to the rites for mourning. When many people have been killed, one should grieve and weep for the dead. Even after winning a battle, one should observe the rites of mourning.

The Imperial Commentary says: The Book of Changes regards warfare as something that brings calamity upon the world. Even when a battle is fought and victory achieved, people are inevitably harmed by war. Therefore, those who hold the position of commander and win should face warfare with the solemnity of mourning rites.

The Commentary of the Ministers says: The benevolent regard all people in the world equally, without distinction between those close or distant, or between one side and another. Thus, they abhor treating weapons as auspicious objects and approach the army with rites of grief. When many people are killed, they grieve and weep for the dead; even when they win a battle, they observe rites of mourning. This shows clearly that warfare is a measure used only when there is no other choice.

Chapter Thirty-Two: The Dao Is Ever Nameless

The Dao is ever nameless.

The Imperial Commentary says: The Dao is the source of Heaven and Earth. How could it be given a name?

The Commentary of the Ministers says: The Dao is what generates Heaven and Earth. It remains ever without form or name, so how could it be named?

Though the uncarved block is subtle, no one in the world can make it submit.

The Imperial Commentary says: “The uncarved block” is a metaphor for the Dao in its complete essence. Once the Dao divides into particular forms and names, relations of greater and lesser arise, in which one constrains another. Yet the Dao’s complete essence does not depart from the nature of the myriad things. Though subtle, it can discern all things. This also accords with what Zhuangzi calls the “True Ruler,” the inner master of all things.

The Commentary of the Ministers says: Before the Dao has dispersed into particular forms and objects, it is called the “uncarved block.” The block is subtle and refined, and all things honor it. Who, then, could make it submit?

If the lords and kings can hold fast to the Dao, the myriad things will naturally submit.

The Imperial Commentary says: The Dao is sufficient to serve as the master of the myriad things, and so they submit naturally. Zhuangzi says, “Keep to simplicity, and the people’s nature can be preserved; bring the myriad things to submission without relying on force or punishment.” This means much the same thing.

I believe that the Dao (the Way) is originally simple and undivided, complete as a whole. If rulers can attain this state and hold fast to it, they can become models for all under Heaven. Then all things will return to them of their own accord, without being summoned. Returning to formlessness and desirelessness is the Dao; moving toward form and desire is the way of the myriad things. The Dao therefore governs all things. They submit to it and turn toward it, returning like guests.

When the Qi (vital energy) of Heaven and Earth comes together, sweet dew descends. No one commands it to do so, yet it naturally nourishes all things evenly.

The Imperial Commentary says: If one holds fast to the pure and simple Great Dao without losing it, not only will all things return of their own accord; the influence of the Dao will also reach upward to Heaven and spread downward across Earth, connecting with the Qi of Heaven and Earth. Heaven and Earth respond to each other and come into harmony, and all things receive their blessing. Sweet dew is formed from the Qi that gathers when Heaven and Earth are in harmony.

The Commentary says: When an emperor’s De (Virtue/Power) reaches upward to Great Clarity, the highest celestial realm, and downward to Great Tranquility, the peaceful Earth, while blessing all spirits in between, sweet dew descends. The influence of the Dao connects with Heaven and Earth; their Qi meets and comes into harmony, and all things receive its blessing. Sweet dew is formed from the Qi that gathers when Heaven and Earth are in harmony.

I believe that when rulers attain the Dao and hold fast to it, they can harmonize the relationship between Heaven and humanity, leaving no separation between them. Heaven and Earth then respond to one another, Yin-Yang moves in harmony, and sweet dew descends to nourish all under Heaven evenly. Who makes it happen this way?

When things first begin to be made and distinguished, names arise. Once names have appeared, one should know where to stop. Knowing when enough is enough keeps one from falling into danger.

The Imperial Commentary says: As the Great Dao unfolds through five stages, forms and names become possible. Once forms can be named, the Dao gradually withdraws, and De declines along with it. The simple, generous spirit of the age dissipates, yet people no longer know how to bring this change to a halt. Those in the world who are benevolent worry about the troubles of the age; those who are not benevolent indulge their nature and covet power, rank, and wealth. The sage is different. Though names and institutions have appeared, he does not lose his simplicity as things change around him; he remains calm, detached, and content. Who, then, could bring him into danger? Thus it is said that knowing when enough is enough keeps one from danger.

As I understand it, when the Dao, complete in itself, returns to the One, it forms a simple, undivided state. When the simple Dao begins to differentiate and take shape, names arise. Names begin with the One, and from the One unfold the myriad things, each with its own name. Set names straight so that they accord with the nature of things, and you will know when to stop. If you cling to names and become attached to things with form, you will drift along with changes in the external world, pressing forward without knowing how to return. You will be burdened by worldly affairs, forget the true nature of your nature and life, and lose the place where you can be at rest. Is this not dangerous?

The Dao moves through the world as streams flow into rivers and seas.

The Imperial Commentary says: All things under heaven arise from a single nature. The Dao is present in the world through the accord of natures; streams flow into rivers and seas because water gathers with water. Things of the same nature come together, and things of the same kind respond to one another. When the sage encounters worldly affairs and adapts to the times, what can they do? Nothing more than follow their nature.

As I understand it, the Dao is present in the world through the accord of natures, and streams flow into rivers and seas because water shares the same nature. Things of the same nature come together, and things of the same kind respond to one another. When the sage encounters worldly affairs, what can they do? Nothing more than follow their nature.

Nature is one, and its source is the wholeness of the Dao. Thus nature and the Dao both flow together and return to the One. When it spreads out, it becomes streams and valleys; when it gathers, it becomes rivers and seas. The nature of water does not change.

Chapter 33: “Knowing Others Is Wisdom”

To understand others is wisdom.

The Imperial Commentary says: The Traditions say that wisdom is like the eyes: they can see a hundred paces away, yet cannot see their own eyelashes. To discern whether others are upright or crooked, as clearly as distinguishing black from white, is within the reach of wisdom. This is what it means to understand others.

As I understand it, one uses one’s own understanding to know others and judge them accurately; this is why it is called “wisdom.” Although wisdom is partly innate, it is also influenced by human factors. Thus, people often fail to see themselves clearly.

Only those who understand themselves can be called clear-sighted.

The Imperial Commentary says: The Changes says, “Return and thereby know yourself.” The Traditions say that to judge others accurately is called “wisdom.” Although wisdom is partly innate, it is also influenced by human factors, so people often fail to see themselves clearly. Those who can know themselves are truly clear-sighted.

The Changes says, “Return to the source, and you can know yourself.” The Commentary says, “Only by looking inward can one be called clear-sighted.” Relying only on cleverness to understand others entangles you in external things. Returning inward to know yourself means becoming still, returning to the root, and seeing yourself clearly. This is like Heaven and Earth, which can perceive and reflect all things.

Minister Yi says: Understanding external things makes it easy to be led astray by deluded thoughts; knowing yourself allows you to return to the root. Returning to the root brings emptiness, stillness, and single-mindedness. Only when the mind is still can you clearly perceive Heaven and Earth and see all things.

The one who can overcome others may be called strong; the one who can overcome himself is truly powerful.

The Imperial Commentary says: A person who has the Dao values De and does not prize strength. He devotes himself to overcoming himself and does not seek to defeat others. Deceiving the foolish through clever schemes or overpowering the timid through force is defeating others, and depends on external strength. Overcoming one’s selfish desires and nourishing oneself with an upright heart, without suffering harm, is overcoming oneself. To serve in public office with independence and without fear, to live in seclusion apart from worldly affairs without distress, and to keep one’s heart undaunted in every circumstance: this is true power.

Minister Yi says: Winning through force is defeating others; winning through one’s own inner strength is overcoming oneself. Those who defeat others may in turn be defeated by someone else. But once you have overcome yourself, no external thing can truly overpower you. That is why it is called power.

When desire burns fiercely, gain and misfortune press in from every side, authority bears down, wealth and status tempt, poverty and low standing bring hardship, and life and death draw near, yet none of these can shake the heart, this is what it means to overcome oneself.

One who knows contentment is truly wealthy.

The Imperial Commentary says: Possessing countless different things is called wealth. One who knows contentment focuses on inner cultivation and finds fulfillment within himself. The principles of all things are already complete within him, and the wealth of the state is contained there as well.

Minister Yi says: One who does not know contentment always feels something is lacking and keeps seeking outward, never truly satisfied. If you can find fulfillment within yourself and do not depend on external things, what could be wealthier than that?

One who strives without ceasing has a steadfast aspiration.

The Imperial Commentary says: To keep advancing oneself without pause is to set one’s aspiration on the Dao.

Minister Yi says: To overcome oneself through effort and continue putting it into practice without slackening—such a person is devoted to the Dao.

Only by not losing the root one follows can one endure.

“Those who force their way forward have resolve” means that only those able to persist in advancing are people of aspiration.

The Imperial Commentary says: By constantly encouraging oneself, one can set one’s aspiration on the Dao.

The Minister’s Commentary says: Those who strive to overcome themselves, act without giving up, and set their aspiration on the Dao are such people.

Only by not departing from the root one upholds can one endure.

The Imperial Commentary says: One establishes oneself by holding fast to the right path and does not change direction lightly; thus one can practice the Dao for a long time. Those who shift with the times and follow external things can do so only temporarily.

The Minister’s Commentary says: Hold fast to the One—the fundamental Dao as understood in Daoism—and do not abandon it. Harmonize and protect the original Qi so that it does not become scattered. With the spirit whole and complete, one can let the mind wander where all things began, and so return to the constant Dao.

Only when one dies yet the spirit does not perish can one be called long-lived.

The Imperial Commentary says: Life has its arising, and death its return. By tracing life back to its beginning and returning to death’s endpoint, one can understand the principles of life and death. The sage understands the pattern of day and night coming and going, and knows that death and life are originally no different. Thus, even as the physical form changes, the spirit does not perish; it endures alongside Heaven and Earth without end. Is this not longevity? This chapter begins with knowing oneself, in order to probe the principles of things; then it speaks of knowing contentment, in order to fully realize one’s nature; and finally it speaks of the spirit’s imperishability, in order to understand Heaven’s mandate. In this way, even the transformations of creation can be governed from within oneself. Who could reach this level without transcending past and present and entering the realm beyond birth and death?

The Minister’s Commentary says: Where there is life, there is death; where there is death, there is life. Death and life alternate like morning and evening. The coming and going, the transformations of all things, follow this principle. The sage understands the changes of death and life and knows the pattern of day and night. Though the physical form changes along with these transformations, inner awareness remains clear and settled, without end. The deluded, by contrast, are obscured by confusion and attachment; though alive, they are as if dead.