《老子微旨例略(王弼)》

The Laozi Weizhi Lile, also known as the Laozi Zhilue, was written by Wang Bi of the Wei dynasty and consists of one juan. It is included in the Zhonghua Daozang under the Daode Zhenjing. Wang Bi takes the relationship between “ben” (the root) and “lun” (discourse) in Xuanxue as his conceptual approach in order to summarize and elucidate the essential meaning of the Laozi. This text uses the Zhengyi section of the Zhengtong Daozang as its base edition and collates it with the Yunji Qiqian.

The reason why the myriad things grow and why achievements are accomplished necessarily originates from the formless and comes from the nameless. The formless and nameless is the root of the myriad things. It is neither warm nor cool, belongs neither to the gong pitch nor to the shang pitch; one listens to it but cannot hear it, looks at it but cannot see its form, touches it but cannot perceive it, tastes it but finds no flavor. Therefore, as the myriad things it is an undifferentiated unity; as image it has no fixed shape; as sound it is so faint as to be inaudible; as flavor it has no particular manifestation. Precisely because of this, it can serve as the root of the myriad things, encompassing and penetrating everything, so that the movements of the myriad things all follow from it.

If something is warm, it cannot simultaneously be cool; if it belongs to the gong pitch, it cannot simultaneously belong to the shang pitch. What has form necessarily has distinctions; what has sound necessarily has affiliations. Therefore, an image that has a specific shape is not the Great Image; a sound that has a specific tone is not the Great Sound. Yet if none of the four images appear, the Great Image has no way to become manifest; if none of the five pitches sound, the Great Sound has no way to present itself. When the four images appear and yet the myriad things have no fixed master, the Great Image can flow unobstructed and become manifest; when the five pitches are emitted and yet the human heart has no bias toward any one sound, the Great Sound can appear. Thus, grasping the Great Image, the myriad things of the world will return to it; employing the Great Sound, customs will change. The Great Image is formless yet unobstructed; though the world returns to it, they cannot escape it. The Great Sound is subtle yet manifest; though customs have changed, people may not necessarily recognize it.

Heaven generates the five categories of things, yet no one category solely undertakes all functions; the sage promotes the five kinds of teaching, yet does not teach by means of words. From this we know that the Dao (the Way) that can be spoken is not the constant Dao; the name that can be named is not the constant name.

The root of the five categories of things is neither hot nor cold, neither soft nor hard; the root of the five kinds of teaching is neither ostentatious nor dim, neither binds people with favors nor harms them. Although ancient and modern times are different, and although ages and customs change, this root does not change. This is what is meant by saying that from ancient times that name has never disappeared. If Heaven and Earth do not follow this principle, the myriad things cannot grow; if government does not follow this principle, achievements cannot be accomplished. Therefore ancient and modern communicate, remaining the same from beginning to end. Grasping the principles of antiquity, one can govern the present; governing the present, one can also know the origins of antiquity. This is what is called the Constant. It has no concrete forms such as brightness or darkness, warmth or coolness, so knowing the Constant is called illumination. The growth of the myriad things and the accomplishment of achievements all come from this, therefore by means of it one can examine the roots of the myriad things.

Even lightning flashing by cannot in an instant cover everything; even riding the wind one cannot in a single breath reach all places. True swiftness does not lie in rapid movement; true arrival does not lie in rushing. Therefore, even the grandest of things that can be spoken of is insufficient to command Heaven and Earth; even things with form developed to the extreme are insufficient to encompass the myriad things.

Praising it still cannot fully express its vastness; singing of it cannot exhaust its grandeur. Naming it, the name may not be fitting; describing it, one cannot say it all. Names necessarily make distinctions, descriptions necessarily have a basis; with distinctions one cannot encompass everything, with a basis one cannot exhaust the whole. Unable to encompass, one will greatly diverge from the real; unable to exhaust, one cannot completely define it by name. These principles can be further illustrated: the term “Dao” takes the meaning of that from which the myriad things emerge; the term “xuan” takes the meaning of the profound and obscure from which they emerge; “deep” means it is profound and unfathomable; “great” means it encompasses without bound; “far” means it stretches vast and distant, unattainable; “subtle” means it is minute and hard to perceive. These expressions each have their significance, yet none exhaust the ultimate of the Dao. The Dao encompasses without bound and cannot be named “small”; it is subtle and formless and cannot be completely covered by “great.” Therefore the Laozi uses the word “Dao” to designate it and also calls it “xuan,” yet does not take the name as a delimitation of it.

Thus, clinging to speech loses the constant Dao; clinging to names departs from the real; deliberate action harms original nature; stubborn grasping loses the root. The sage does not make words primary and thus does not violate the constant Dao; does not take names as constant and unchanging and thus does not depart from the real; does not take deliberate action as the criterion for conducting affairs and thus does not harm original nature; does not control things with stubbornness and thus does not lose the root.

If one wants to use the words of the Laozi as material for debate and proof, one will lose its intent; if one insistently pursues what names it gives to things, one will contradict its meaning. The aim of the whole book is to discuss the original roots of the myriad things in order to clarify the nature of the spontaneous; to deduce the profound and mysterious principles in order to resolve perplexity. To accord with things in Wuwei (non-action), reducing human impositions; to honor the root in order to still the disturbances of the branches; to hold to the root in order to preserve what is generated thereby; to regard cunning techniques lightly, handling matters before they arise; not to demand of others but to seek the cause in oneself. These are the essentials of the Laozi.

The Legalists emphasize uniformity and use punishments to restrain people; the School of Names emphasizes distinguishing things and uses names and roles to correct them; the Confucians emphasize the completeness of humaneness and use praise to encourage people; the Mohists emphasize frugality and use correction to establish norms; the Miscellaneous School emphasizes taking the strengths of all and employing them comprehensively. Yet using punishments to restrain things necessarily breeds cunning; using names to define things may lose observation and forbearance; using praise to encourage people easily gives rise to contention for fame and profit; using correction to set rules easily causes opposition and conflict; taking various methods to implement them may also bring mixture and disorder. These all employ only the branches produced by the Dao while discarding the root; when the myriad things lose their fundamental support they are insufficient to be maintained for long.

Different roads may lead to the same outcome; pursuits that seem compatible may actually differ. Scholars often become confused because of identical outcomes and also lose their way because of differing directions of pursuit. Seeing the Legalists seek uniformity they call it “Legalism”; seeing the School of Names distinguish names and actualities they call it “Names”; seeing the Confucians seek humaneness they call it “Confucianism”; seeing the Mohists seek frugality they call it “Mohism”; seeing the Miscellaneous School unconstrained they call it “Miscellaneous.” They name the schools according to the features they see and persist in their views according to their preferences, thus producing mixed and chaotic discussions and one-sided debates.

The writing style of the Laozi is to first present the final conclusion to confirm the beginning, without laying it out sequentially from start to finish; it opens the train of thought without fully spelling out the answers; it guides the reader without completing every step for the reader. The reader needs to seek and unravel in order to clarify the meanings; through inquiry one can thoroughly understand the principles. It is skilled at raising discussions from the beginnings of things and pointing out the conclusions at the ends of the chapters. Therefore those whose interests agree with it often praise its opening remarks and develop them from there; those with different understandings and original ideas also often use the conclusions at its endings to prove their own views. Although the roads differ they may ultimately converge; although thoughts are of a hundred kinds the results obtained may be the same. The text explains the ultimate principles by presenting conclusions and results, enabling readers to infer analogously, and when their thinking receives a response they feel they have understood its meaning.

The reason the myriad things are able to exist is that they accord with the original forms of things; the reason meritorious works are able to be accomplished is that they are not attached to the fame of those works. Those who truly preserve life do not take “being alive” as their sole aim, but always remain mindful that death may arrive, and only thus do they know how to settle life.

Those who are truly at ease do not regard ease as a matter of course, but remain mindful of danger; those who can truly preserve do not cling to preservation, but remain mindful of possible loss. Therefore, insistently seeking to preserve oneself may instead invite destruction; remaining mindful of possible destruction enables long-lasting survival. Seeking only to rest in the present easily leads to danger; remaining mindful of danger enables true ease.

Those skilled at applying force can lift the lightest autumn hair; those skilled at listening can hear thunder. This illustrates that the functioning of the Dao (the Way) often runs contrary to the forms people see before their eyes. The person at ease is indeed at ease, yet does not take ease as a support; existing things indeed exist, yet do not take existence as the root. Lords and kings are indeed honored, yet they do not achieve honor by pursuing honor; heaven and earth are indeed vast, yet they do not become vast by regarding themselves as vast. The meritorious works of the sage indeed exist, yet they are established by not advertising “sageness”; benevolent De (Virtue/Power) is indeed manifest, yet it is preserved by not clinging to “benevolence.”

Therefore those who see only the external forms of things and fail to perceive the Dao often become angry at such words. If one wishes to clarify the root of things, even if what is before one’s eyes is near, one must trace its source from farther away; if one wishes to understand whence things arise, even if it is obvious, one must investigate the root from the hidden depths. Thus Laozi explains the body and mind of humans from the origin of heaven, earth, and the myriad things, and from “the one Dao” explains why lords and kings refer to themselves as “orphaned” and “lonely” (humble self-appellations). In this manner, those who observe only what is immediately before them and fail to see the source and root will regard these words as absurd and empty. Then a multitude of opinions arise, each putting forth its own claims; some praise disorder, some find the discourse impractical, some mock the principles contained therein. They appear to understand yet remain puzzled; they appear to have distinguished yet become even more confused—this is why.

“Name” is that by which things are determined; “appellation” is the designation people give according to their own cognition. Names arise because of things, while appellations take form from people’s observation and inquiry. Surveying the myriad things, there is nothing that does not proceed by it, so it is called “Dao”; inquiring into the mysteries of the myriad things, there is nothing that does not emerge from it, so it is called “xuan” (the profound and subtle). Marvelous functioning emerges from xuan, and the myriad things all proceed by the Dao. The Dao generates and nurtures the myriad things yet does not obstruct or hinder them, allowing each of the myriad things to follow its own nature—this is what is called “Dao.” Generating and nurturing the myriad things without claiming them as one’s own, accomplishing the myriad things without relying on their merit, nourishing the myriad things without dominating them; possessing De yet not taking it as an authority with which to control the myriad things—this is the De of xuan.

“Xuan” speaks of the profound depths, “Dao” of vastness. Names come from the shapes of things, appellations from people’s observation and seeking; neither names nor appellations arise in a vacuum. Yet names ultimately tend to deviate from the original meaning of things, and appellations cannot exhaust the ultimate of things. Therefore when speaking of “xuan” one must say “xuan and again xuan”; when speaking of the vastness of Dao, one says that between heaven and earth there are four great ones. Laozi’s book can probably be summed up in a single sentence: honor the root and still the branches. Examining its source and tracing its destination, one finds that its words never depart from the root and its actions never lose the main purport. Though the entire text comprises five thousand characters, only one principle runs through it. Though the content is extensive, it belongs to the same category; summarized in one sentence, there is no profound place that cannot be understood. If each matter is split apart and explained separately, even if one debates at length, one will only become more perplexed.

Let us try putting it this way: when a deviant custom arises, is it created out of nothing by deviant persons? When a custom of dissipation and extravagance appears, is it invented by dissipated persons? Preventing deviance lies in maintaining inner sincerity, not in imposing strict surveillance everywhere; stilling extravagance lies in removing ostentation, not in adding more statutes and prohibitions; eliminating theft lies in reducing desires, not in severe punishments and laws; stopping litigation lies in not esteeming contention, not in being skilled at trying cases. Therefore one should not merely suppress the actions people have already performed, but cause them not to give rise to the mind for such actions; one should not harm people’s normal wishes, but keep them from being drawn by excessive desires. One should plan while matters have not yet shown signs and handle them before they have begun—that is all.

Thus exhausting the sage’s intelligence and talent to govern cunning and hypocrisy is not as good as making plainness evident so that the people’s desires become quiet; advocating benevolence and righteousness to thicken a thin custom is not as good as holding to simplicity and preserving honesty; increasing clever conveniences to undertake all sorts of affairs is not as good as reducing private desires and stilling ostentatious competition. Abolishing strict surveillance, withdrawing the intelligence of ears and eyes, ceasing to encourage people to contend for fame and profit, cutting away ostentatious reputations, abandoning clever implements, and holding precious goods lightly—the key lies in causing the people not to generate greed and desire, rather than merely suppressing the deviant actions they have already taken. These practices—making plainness evident in order to eliminate esteem for cleverness and skill, reducing private desires in order to abandon clever profit—are all a matter of honoring the root and stilling the branches.

If the Dao of plainness is not made evident while tempting objects of desire still fill the eyes, then even if sagely brightness is exerted to the utmost and intelligence is used to the limit to strike against it, cleverness will become ever more refined and hypocrisy will constantly change. The stricter the controls, the more effort is put into evasion; thus the foolish and the wise deceive one another, relatives become mutually suspicious, simplicity dissipates, true nature is lost, and all manner of treachery follows. This is the result of abandoning the root and attacking only the branches; even exhausting sagely wisdom produces only these disasters, let alone methods inferior to sagely wisdom. Using plainness to settle people’s hearts, they will naturally become upright in Wuwei (non-action); using sagely wisdom to restrain people, the common folk will instead be distressed and clever hypocrisy will increase. Therefore plainness ought to be held to, and sagely wisdom may be abandoned.

The simpler the surveillance, the simpler the means by which people evade it; when the cleverness of ears and eyes is used to the utmost, people’s methods of evasion become more thorough. Lenient surveillance inflicts less harm on plainness; strict surveillance deepens clever hypocrisy. Is not the person capable of probing the hidden with extremely keen observation precisely a person of sagely wisdom? How can one enumerate the disasters caused by this practice? Therefore the benefits obtained from strict control are not necessarily so great.

If one cannot distinguish names, one cannot discuss principles; if one cannot determine names, one cannot discuss the actual circumstances of things. Humans are generated from concrete forms; it is not that forms are created by human names. Therefore, having such a name, there must be a corresponding form; having such a form, there must be its limits and categories. Benevolent De cannot be called sagely wisdom, nor can cleverness be called benevolent De; each has its actual content. Being able to see the extremely minute is the utmost of clear observation; being able to probe hidden affairs is the utmost of thought. If one can exert clear observation to the utmost, is that not sageness? If one can exert thought to the utmost, is that not wisdom? Determining names according to actual circumstances and examining them, one will understand that abandoning sagely wisdom is not without reason.

If the De of honest simplicity is not valued while the fine names of reputations and actions are displayed, people will adorn the praised actions in order to seek acclaim and adorn the advocated conduct in order to seek profit. For the sake of fame and profit they strive even harder to display themselves; the finer the reputation, the less the sincerity; the heavier the profit, the stronger the contention. Even between fathers and sons, elder and younger brothers, frankness is lost: filial piety no longer issues from the true heart, and kindness no longer from actual feeling. This is precisely the result brought about by displaying reputations and advocating actions. Because customs are thin, the teaching of names arises, and as a result hypocrisy is increased by esteeming benevolence and righteousness; how much more those practices that slight benevolence and righteousness? Therefore abandoning benevolence and righteousness may instead restore filial piety and kindness—this principle is not difficult to understand.

The higher the city walls are built, the more readily siege engines appear; the more tempting the profits, the deeper people’s greed. As long as people have few desires within, they will not steal even if there are rewards; once private desires are indulged, the mind of clever profit-seeking becomes even more intense. Therefore abandoning cleverness and profit and substituting the reduction of desires, theft disappears—there is nothing here worth boasting of.

Sagely wisdom is the outstanding among talents, benevolence and righteousness the great among actions, clever profit the expert in employing things. But if the root is not well preserved, even vigorously promoting these three virtues still brings disaster; how much more those inferior means that seek only profit? The ancients once exclaimed: “What is most difficult to understand in the world is probably this principle.” People know that not being sage is not sage, yet they do not know that clinging to “sageness” can also produce non-sageness; they know that not being benevolent is not benevolent, yet they do not know that deliberately practicing benevolence may also become non-benevolence. Therefore abandoning attachment to “sageness,” the sage’s meritorious works are instead complete; laying down the advertisement of “benevolence,” benevolent De instead becomes profound.

Disliking to display strength is not hoping oneself to become weak; but always displaying strength instead loses true strength. Abandoning deliberate practice of benevolence is not hoping people to become non-benevolent; but deliberately displaying benevolence instead forms hypocrisy. Deliberately pursuing governance may invite disorder; clinging to maintaining ease may instead fall into danger. “Putting oneself behind, one instead leads; placing oneself outside consideration, oneself is instead preserved.” This leading and this preservation cannot be achieved by deliberately pursuing leading or preserving oneself.

Meritorious works cannot be claimed as one’s own, fine reputations cannot be used for display, so one must grasp the root of accomplishing meritorious works. The text says that having recognized the branches one must still return to the root and hold to the root. Following this principle, where would it not succeed?

The Laozi Weizhi Lielue ends here.

The notes list the differing characters and phrases between the Yunji Qiqian (a Daoist encyclopedia) edition and this book, for readers to compare. For example, the character tian appears as fu in the Yunji Qiqian; the character bao is written as another bao; some entire sentences also have different wording. Some notes further indicate that the Yunji Qiqian has textual omissions in certain places.

The latter half of the original text contains obvious repetitions, missing characters, and garbled writing. After the eleventh item, for instance, items eight through ten reappear, and the original character of the fifteenth item is shown as “y.” These sections therefore cannot be reliably interpreted as complete collation notes.