《道德玄经原旨(杜道坚)》

The Original Meaning of the Mysterious Classic of the Dao and De is a four-volume commentary on the Classic of the Dao and De, written by Du Daojian during the Yuan dynasty. It is also known as The Original Meaning of the Classic of the Dao and De, The Original Meaning of Laozi, or The Original Meaning of the Mysterious Classic. The book opens with prefaces by Li Liwu, Zhang Yucai, Mou Yan, Xu Tianyou, and others. Its base text comes from the Jade Instructions category of the Dongshen section of the Zhengtong Daoist Canon.

Title: “Preface to The Original Meaning of the Mysterious Classic of the Dao and De”

The Dao discussed in the Laozi and the Classic of Changes is, in essence, one and the same. The Classic of Changes speaks of the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), but preserves it only in its text without elaborating on it. It opens with Qian and Kun, speaking of the Dao after the formation of the myriad things—that is, the Dao of the postcelestial realm. People take Heaven as their model and follow Earth, so both Confucians and Daoists can accord with the workings of Heaven and Earth.

“Taiyi” refers to the state before Qi has appeared. Daoists regard it as the source of the Great Dao: “the nameless beginning of Heaven and Earth.” It belongs to the Dao of the precelestial realm. The Dao follows nature, and so Laozi was able to grasp the wondrous principle of returning to emptiness. Ah, the Daodejing has already set out these principles in full. I believe that the highest truths are not complicated, and so I once entrusted them to diagrams and accompanying praises, without daring to claim that I had exhausted them.

One day, my nephew by marriage, Jian Chengxing, came to see me from Hangzhou. He said he had recently met Master Du of Nangu, whose teachings on the Dao following nature and Laozi grasping the wondrous principle of returning to emptiness closely matched the views expressed in my diagrams and praises. He then showed me Master Du’s work, Yuanzhi (“The Original Meaning”). I had often lamented that no one in the world could discuss this subject. After reading it, however, I felt that our minds were in accord.

Yuanzhi says: “The Mysterious appears empty, yet within it lies an even deeper mystery. It seems to have form, yet is formless: it is Heaven, which gives birth to the myriad things.” Following this principle further, one can glimpse the natural Heaven, faintly present and enduring. It also says: “At the center of the Taiji is an empty space, and the Valley Spirit resides within it.” The valley’s emptiness, able to respond to all things, is the function of the heart-mind; the spirit’s stillness and numinous awareness are the function of nature. “The Taiji is the original One, in which all things were blended together before they were divided; the Wuji is the great emptiness before the Taiji took form.” “The Dao is the root of the myriad things, and the part of it that becomes manifest is the Taiji.” These are all incisive insights. Though people may build a cart behind closed doors, once they take it outside, its wheels will fit the ruts in the road. So it is here. That Master Du could understand this classic in such a way makes the principles of past and present, above and below, seem suddenly clear.

He also developed and explained the meaning of the five thousand words of the Daodejing, making its content more complete and more persuasive as something grounded in truth rather than empty talk. The way of the Lord Lao reaches back before the Great Beginning, and his spirit roamed beyond high antiquity. He personally witnessed the changes and upheavals at the end of the Zhou dynasty; there was no transformation under Heaven that he had not experienced. He left his teachings for people thousands of generations later. If so, why did Laozi speak of benevolence and righteousness? People sometimes criticize him for this, but have not considered the matter carefully.

In general, the Daodejing uses Wuji and Taiji to explain the Dao, while benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness are explained through Yin-Yang and the Five Phases. The saying that Heaven, Earth, and the sages regard the people and the myriad things as straw dogs means that Heaven and Earth act without partiality, and that the sages do not impose their private feelings upon the myriad things. Its meaning is no different from the Six Classics’ teaching to nurture benevolence. As for phrases such as “highest De,” “highest benevolence,” “losing the Dao and losing De,” and “abandoning benevolence and discarding wisdom,” they describe how the Way of the world declined, step by step, from the age of the Emperors to that of the Kings. The criticism is directed at those who later used benevolence as a pretext, appropriated the principles of righteousness, overstepped the rites, and relied on clever contrivances.

Yuanzhi truly captures this point. It also says that those who govern the people and administer affairs, if they do not understand that benevolence enables things to grow, propriety enables them to flourish, and righteousness enables them to come to completion, but instead revere only concealed and subtle schemes, are like those who have no spring, summer, or autumn in the year and have only winter. This is a profound observation.

Ah, the movement of the Heavenly Dao and the changes in the world’s circumstances cannot be reversed once the times have passed; this is the course of events. Whether one can respond to change and remain attuned to the Way, however, depends on the person. The Daodejing was written for precisely this reason. It says: “The vital essence within is utterly real; within it there is trustworthiness.” “Trustworthiness” here can be connected both to trustworthiness among the Five Constants and to Earth among the Five Phases. It refers to the precelestial Dao of Wuji and Taiji: the unchanging root of operation amid the transformations, which is “sincerity.” Jian Chengxing therefore selected the essential passages from the classic and wrote them at the end of the scroll as a summary.

Written by the Daoist of Western Valley, Li Liwu, on the Shangyuan Festival in the Yisi year of the Dade era.

The Dao De Jing comprises eighty-one chapters, and more than three thousand scholars have written commentaries on it. In the opening of his Original Meaning, Southern Valley says that the purpose of the Mysterious Classic was originally to instruct rulers. He also says that the ancient sage Laozi wrote the Mysterious Classic to explain the principles and virtues by which emperors govern the realm. The essential outline of the whole book is made perfectly clear from its opening.

As this scripture has been handed down through the world, when unfolded it extends without limit, reaching throughout the Six Directions—the four quarters of earth and the heavens above and below. When rolled up, it can become so small that it fits within a speck of dust. Its principles, therefore, cannot be confined to any one place. Those who read the Original Meaning and grasp its broad purpose will also avoid going against its subtler teachings.

I have heard that Southern Valley once accompanied Dongming to court to answer the ruler’s questions. He had many earnest thoughts in his heart, but was unable to present them in time. This book was perhaps a record of the insights he had gathered over the years—what he could not express then, he wished to entrust to later generations. If those who read it govern the realm according to its principles, their achievements may well surpass the peace brought about under Emperor Wen of Han. Southern Valley was truly extraordinary.

Preface by Zhang Yucai, Hereditary Celestial Master, on the Minor Snow day in the Yisi year of the Dade era.

Southern Valley entrusted his earnest thoughts to later generations. Those who read them may achieve a peace surpassing that of Emperor Wen of Han. Southern Valley was truly extraordinary.

Preface by Zhang Yucai, Hereditary Celestial Master, on the Minor Snow day in the Yisi year of the Dade era.

Living in cramped, confined surroundings amid the turmoil of worldly affairs, my mind grew troubled and unsettled. Talking with ordinary people about the affairs of the world became increasingly dull. Lord Du of South Valley (Du Daojian) came to visit by boat. His manner of speaking was detached from the ordinary world and greatly inspired me. So we climbed together to Cloud Peak at the Daoist sanctuary and stayed there.

It was past midnight when we lit a lamp. Lord Du brought out his own work, The Original Meaning of the Laozi, for me to read. I was so absorbed that I scarcely slept the whole night. Lord Du had read widely, and his interpretation of the Laozi went beyond simply revealing its central message. In one chapter, he pointed out, the text speaks of Yao and Shun; in another, it speaks of Yu, King Wen, and King Wu. He believed that Lao Dan had served as the Keeper of the Archives beneath the Pillar, an office in the Zhou dynasty responsible for records and documents. Since Lao Dan’s role was that of a court historian, the hundred chapters of the Laozi could also be read as a work of history and should therefore be understood in relation to historical events. I was astonished by this.

Ever since Sima Qian placed Laozi and Han Fei together in a single biography, people have never reached a satisfying understanding of Laozi. Heshang Gong’s commentary on the Laozi discusses practices such as breathing exercises and daoyin, or guiding and stretching the body. Later, Sun Deng, Tao Hongjing, the Immortal of Songling, and Tang dynasty Daoist masters such as Cheng Xuanying and Zhang Junxiang also wrote commentaries on the Laozi. More recently, the immortalist Wang Fusi used the Laozi to explain the Book of Changes, drawing criticism from some; yet when he interpreted the Laozi, he had not in fact brought the Book of Changes into it. Then Su Ziyou went so far as to interpret “This is called inheriting the light” as the Buddhist lineage of transmitting the lamp. The Laozi could hardly have imagined that later interpretations would go so far.

Now Lord Du seeks the meaning of the Laozi in writings on the art of governing by kings and emperors, and interprets it with reference to their deeds. It is like clearing away confusion and emerging from darkness, so that one can see the bright and upright path. The character of the whole book is thereby renewed. Is this not worthy of praise? Some say that he is really interpreting the “Origin of the Dao.” Alas, no one in the world has truly understood Lord Du’s purpose.

Daoist teachings have been divided for a long time. People cling to their own views and compete to establish schools; some even hold fast to fragments and disparage one another. No one is willing to set aside preconceptions and seek together the conclusion that truly accords with reason. Though Lord Du titled his book The Original Meaning, he takes no side with any school. He judges only whether an interpretation accords with sound principles, follows the classics, and honors the true Dao, striving to ensure that readers in later generations will no longer be left uncertain by the different schools’ interpretations. Such, in broad terms, is his purpose, and it shows a generous mind. What essential difference is there between this and what is called interpreting the “Origin of the Dao”? My learning is shallow, and I have not yet studied The Original Meaning in depth. Here I will offer only a brief account of its general sense.

This preface was written by Mou Yan of Lingyang during the Grain Rain season in the jiawu year.

Those who study Laozi’s teachings often honor Laozi while disparaging Confucianism. Liezi and Zhuangzi, too, often exalted their own teacher and even criticized Yao, Shun, and Confucius, thereby highlighting Laozi’s teachings. Confucians consequently regarded the study of Laozi as heterodox, and the teachings of Confucius and Laozi came to be divided into two schools. But do Laozi’s teachings truly conflict with Confucianism?

I have not studied Yuanzhi deeply, so I can only offer a tentative account of its general meaning. The “Dao” Laozi speaks of operates beyond tangible things. He advocates using emptiness and stillness to resolve the substantial, and seeks to replace human conventions such as sageliness, wisdom, benevolence, and righteousness with the Way of simplicity, so that customs may return to an unspoiled state. Confucian scholars are often alarmed by phrases such as “discard sageliness and abandon wisdom,” but may not understand that these are meant to correct the ills of the common world, not truly to cast aside all sageliness, wisdom, benevolence, and righteousness. When Laozi’s ideas were applied skillfully, the Western Han governed the realm through stillness and Wuwei (non-action). When their one-sided aspects were allowed to develop unchecked, the Western Jin declined through its veneration of emptiness and quietude. This does not mean that the Way of Laozi must loosen laws and standards or license unrestrained conduct, in contradiction to the Dao I describe.

Du of Nanggu studies Laozi’s teachings without using the old Daoist interpretations to explain the Laozi. Instead, he draws on Confucian thought to illuminate it. He carefully traces the chapters and the meaning of each phrase, connecting the text from beginning to end without breaking it into fragments. He also cites the teachings of ancient rulers, Confucius, and Mencius to explain its principles. This is like applying the five colors in keeping with the things being colored: when properly blended, they form brilliant hues. It is like harmonizing the Five Tones, high and low, clear and deep, until they make a complete melody. And it is like the thirty spokes of a wheel converging from different directions on a single hub, so that they can all travel along the same track. What I see is that they ultimately return to one accord.

Laozi advocates restoring a form of governance that records events by tying knots; this is an ancient ideal from the age of Fuxi and Shennong. His account of the “Valley Spirit”—the Dao’s empty, still substance, which gives rise to transformation as a valley does—continues the teachings of the Yellow Emperor. His esteem for Wuwei resembles Shun’s way of governing; his refusal to boast or pride himself resembles the character of Yu. The profound and subtle statements in Laozi that accord with the Confucian Six Classics are too numerous to list one by one. When we see how the beginnings of all things converge and connect, I cannot believe that Confucius and Laozi cannot be brought into one tradition.

Du understands the Dao with the insight of an eminent scholar, probing from the subtle into the mysterious and bringing different teachings together in a common understanding. Is this not what the Grand Historian meant when he said that the Daoist school is devoted to a single principle while also drawing on the strengths of Confucianism?

When I first took office in Haoxing, I was still young, and once traveled by boat along the Feng River. Now I am old. One day, Du visited me through a friend’s introduction and showed me his Yuanzhi. Though I have not fully grasped the principles in the book, I greatly admire Du’s ability to bring ideas together and draw widely from many teachings, with such diligence and breadth. Readers should reflect on it carefully for themselves.

I, Xu Tianyou Siwan, a loyalist of the fallen dynasty, wrote this piece in the Yichu Mountain Studio.

I greatly admire the account Sima Qian gives of life in the Western Han capital. During the reign of Emperor Xiaowen, the people lived in peace and contentment, and even those in their sixties and seventies played and frolicked like children. From this we can imagine how prosperous and peaceful the times must have been. Was this not the result of following the quiet Wuwei (non-action) of the Yellow Emperor and Laozi? Still, events from the Han dynasty cannot, after all, serve as conclusive evidence.

The central teaching of Laozi’s writings is, broadly speaking, Wuwei and non-contention. This was the principle by which the ancient sage-kings governed the realm; even Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou found it difficult to put fully into practice. When the Zhou dynasty declined, Laozi rode west through the Hangu Pass amid a purple cloud. Moved by the changes of the age, he wrote the five thousand characters of the Daode Jing (Classic of the Dao and De). Once he had finished, he departed. His words were subtle and his meaning far-reaching, expressing his profound hopes for the world of his time.

The Daode Jing has circulated for a long time, and it has certainly had its admirers. Yet those who study it have taken different approaches: some emphasize laws, names, and techniques of statecraft, while others discuss immortals and arcane principles. These schools have not clarified one another’s teachings; instead, they have criticized each other. Moreover, hundreds of people have written commentaries on the text, and not all of them can be assumed to have uncovered Laozi’s original purpose in composing it. Du Daojian of Nangu wrote his Yuanzhi (Tracing the Original Meaning) relatively late, but offered a considered judgment: Laozi examined ancient historical events and wrote the Daode Jing to explain the principles by which Fuxi, Xuanyuan, Yao, and Shun governed the world. Laozi had served as the keeper of the archives, an official responsible for the classics, and the stories of antiquity were not far removed from him. The ancient rulers governing without exertion, with their robes hanging loose, and keeping records by tying knots in cords must have seemed vivid before his eyes. When we seek evidence in history, no source is more reliable than historical records. Using ancient history to confirm the Daode Jing makes it easier to believe, and Du was indeed the first to take this approach.

When Ban Gu discussed the Daoist school, he said that its quietude, emptiness, and faithfulness to its own Dao accorded with the spirit of Yao’s abdication of the throne. Yet he said little about Du’s view. Perhaps Ban Gu meant to classify the Nine Schools under Confucianism and Daoism. But the Dao originates in Heaven and the sages. The sages passed it down to one another, and people who did not know its name called it “Dao”; eventually, it became the name of a school in its own right. Was that truly Laozi’s intention? If we adopt Du’s account today and return purely to the ancient Dao, this will also help bring the Way of Confucius to fuller expression.

Du came from a Confucian background and later studied the Dao of Laozi. He did not show favoritism toward the tradition he had studied, but weighed the merits of Confucianism and Daoism with discernment. That was truly wise. Though I am slow-witted and have not yet fully grasped his central teaching, I hope that one day in the mountains of Jichou, we may sit apart together among the white clouds, raise questions, and resolve our doubts. Then, beyond words and writing, I should be able to understand something of the truth.

Wang Yijian of Shanyin compiled the works left by his father.

The Original Meaning of the Mysterious Classic of the Dao and De, Volume One

Commentary by Du Daojian, a learned master of the religious tradition from Dangtu

The Jing of the Dao and De says: “The Dao that can be explained in words is not the eternal, unchanging Dao. A name that can be spoken is not the eternal, unchanging name. The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth; the named is the source of the myriad things. Always dwelling in the state of nonbeing, one can observe the Dao’s subtlety; always dwelling in the state of being, one can observe the boundaries of the myriad things. These two emerge from the same source, though they have different names; both may be called mysterious. Mystery within mystery is the gateway to all wonders.”

The Original Meaning says: “Heaven is the ancestor of the myriad things, and the Dao is the ancestor of Heaven. Heaven does not speak; how, then, could the Dao be explained in words? If it could be spoken, would it still count as the Dao? The Dao cannot be spoken or named. It is Heaven in its natural state, constant and unchanging: this is the precelestial. That which can be spoken and named is Heaven that generates the myriad things. It changes and is not constant: this is the postcelestial. From this we can see that the beginning of Heaven and Earth, the source of the myriad things, subtlety, being and nonbeing, mystery, and the many wonders together encompass the very source of Heaven and Earth’s transformations, leaving almost nothing out. By observing the subtlety of constant dwelling in nonbeing, one can see…”

What is meant by “the beginning of Earth” is the source of all things. The Dao is both subtle and profound, and flows through being and nonbeing. It encompasses the source of Heaven and Earth’s transformations, and almost nothing lies beyond it.

Observe the wonder of “constant nonbeing,” and you can glimpse the beginning without a name. From that beginning, you can understand the principles of the Limitless and the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). Observe the first stirrings of “constant being,” and you can glimpse the source of the myriad named things. From that source, you can see the two forms of Yin-Yang and the formation of all things. These two aspects emerge from a single source, both arising from the mother of all things; they differ only in name. If you investigate them further, you enter the realm of “the mystery within mystery”—the gateway from which all wonders arise.

The Dao of Heaven that brings all things into being is revealed through this. The Dao of Heaven that governs nature’s course, however, remains hidden and endures forever. The Dao beyond physical form and the things that have physical form, the Dao followed by Heaven and the Dao I come to understand—all are contained within it. Unspoken words and nameless names cannot express the many mysteries; what need is there to say more? Heaven does not speak, and the sages too wish to remain silent. Yet people find it hard to grasp profound teachings: deep truths are often inexpressible and are instead drowned out by worldly speech. So although sages do not wish to speak at length, in the end they have no choice but to speak.

Long ago, the Mysterious Sage—Laozi—was leaving through the western pass. Yin Xi, the pass keeper, knew that the Great Dao was about to be concealed and pressed him to write a book. With no choice, Laozi said, “If the Dao can be clearly expressed in words, it is not the eternal, unchanging Dao. If a name can be fixed by a definite label, it is not the eternal, unchanging name.” Yin Xizi said, “The Dao cannot be spoken of. To say that it cannot be spoken of is itself to explain the Dao.” This is precisely an explanation of the Dao.

Once Heaven and Earth had taken their places, the two Qi of Yin and Yang joined again as one. This is called “harmonious blending,” when Yin and Yang are balanced and flow together as one. This harmonious blending embodies the substance of the Taiji and is the foundation from which all things are transformed and born. With Heaven, Earth, and humanity established as the Three Powers, the human way also arose. The Book of Documents says, “Only Heaven and Earth are the parents of all things; only humans are the most intelligent among all things.” The discussion above, from “constant nonbeing” onward, concerns the Dao of Heaven; what follows concerns the human way. If people can observe the Dao of Heaven and cultivate the human way, they may reach the state of the sages. The Scripture of the Hidden Talisman says, “Observe the Dao of Heaven and follow its movements, and everything is contained therein.”

“Constant nonbeing” belongs to the prenatal realm. Observe its wonders, and you can understand the self that has always existed. “Constant being” belongs to the postnatal realm. Observe the first signs of things appearing, and you can understand the self that does not perish. Tracing back to the beginning, the formless gives rise to form; following things to their end, form returns to the formless. Observe the comings and goings of everyday things, and the movements and stillness of the mind, and you will find that they have never departed from this principle.

Both arise from the same Dao, though they have different names. “The same” means that they both come from the Dao. The mysterious Dao seems at once one and two, two and one: within the mysterious, it appears to be empty yet also present, present yet also empty. Thus all things arise from it, filled with manifold mysteries.

“Gate” implies both entering and leaving. All things emerge from the vital force of life and eventually return to it. The human body takes the form of Heaven and Earth, and the heart-mind contains Taiji (the fundamental source of the generation and transformation of all things in the universe). Truly understanding this allows one to realize that life does not begin from nothing, nor is it utterly cut off by death.

Ah, the heart-mind of a sage is like the heart-mind of Heaven and Earth. Observe the morning clouds and evening mists between Heaven and Earth: their transformations have no fixed pattern, yet the Great Void—the vast, empty ground of being—remains serenely as it has always been. From this we know that although the sage responds to all manner of affairs, the heart-mind remains still and the inborn nature remains natural. In my view, the vastness of Heaven and Earth can be contained within my body, while my small body can also communicate with Heaven and Earth. Yao was broad and deep in this way, so that the people could not find words to praise him. Such a person may be called a sage who truly possesses the Dao.

The Dao De Jing says: When everyone under Heaven recognizes beauty as beauty, the idea of ugliness arises; when everyone recognizes goodness as goodness, the idea of what is not good arises. Thus being and nonbeing give rise to one another; difficult and easy complete one another; long and short define one another; high and low contrast with one another; sounds harmonize with one another; and what comes before and after follow one another.

Therefore, the sage attends to affairs through Wuwei (non-action) and carries out teaching without relying on words. When all things arise, the sage does not reject them; the sage helps them grow without claiming them as possessions, acts without relying on the merit of those actions, and completes things without taking credit. Precisely because the sage does not claim the merit, that merit does not depart.

The Yuanzhi says: “The Dao exists independently, with nothing else opposed to it. Once two opposing sides arise, they become particular things.” Things have form, and with form come distinctions between beauty and ugliness, good and evil, right and wrong. Heaven and Earth possess great De (Virtue/Power) but do not proclaim it; Yao performed great good deeds yet did not know himself to be good. How, then, could there be evil or wrongdoing? Once thoughts of self-praise and boasting of one’s achievements arise, along with the desire to make others recognize them, beauty turns into ugliness and goodness is no longer goodness. How much worse it is to want everyone under Heaven to know.

In ancient times, people who did good deeds feared that others might find out. Today, people who do good deeds fear that others might not find out. The prevailing mood has become truly shallow. The purpose of the Xuan Jing (that is, the Dao De Jing) was originally to address rulers. A ruler is the teacher of all under Heaven: whatever those above favor, those below will surely follow. The Book of Documents says: “Following the right course brings good fortune; going against it brings misfortune, just as a shadow follows a body and an echo answers a sound.” Alas, the shadow does not move first, with the body following; nor does a valley sound first, with the echo following after. When the body moves, the shadow changes with it; when a sound is made, the valley echoes. How, then, could a ruler fail to be careful?

Thus, being and nonbeing, difficult and easy, long and short, high and low, sound and silence, before and after: these six pairs depend on and complete one another, while also reflecting, constraining, answering, and following one another. This is simply how things necessarily work. Therefore, the sage governs by following nature, without deliberate interference; in teaching, the sage uses few words and does not burden the people with elaborate commands and admonitions. Wuwei (non-action) does not mean doing nothing; it means acting in accordance with the natural course of things, without creating extra complications. Not speaking does not mean remaining entirely silent; it means governing without relying on complicated laws and instructions. The sage lets the people and all things grow naturally and act on their own, each following the course of the others.

Wuwei (non-action) does not mean doing nothing. It means acting in accordance with the natural state of things, without deliberate interference. “Not speaking” does not mean remaining entirely silent, either; it means not burdening the people with complicated laws and admonitions. Let the people and all things grow and act naturally, without withholding their efforts, claiming ownership, or taking pride in their achievements. In this way, the work of nurturing all things can be accomplished. When the work is done, do not claim the credit for yourself; then the achievement will remain with you. Otherwise, it will disappear.

In the Dao De Jing, the term “sage” refers first to rulers of antiquity, ending with Yao, and then to Shun. After Shun, such figures are called “kings,” “dukes and marquises,” or “good people,” “gentlemen,” and “great men.” Their Virtue differed in degree, and their titles carried either praise or criticism. Students should view these titles as people in ancient times did, with reference to history up to the end of the Zhou dynasty.

The Dao De Jing says: “Do not exalt the worthy, and the people will not compete with one another. Do not prize rare goods, and the people will not steal. Do not display things that can stir up greed, and the people’s hearts will not be disturbed.” Thus the sage governs the world by keeping the people’s thoughts simple and their food and clothing sufficient, weakening their desire to compete and seek victory, and strengthening their bodies. The sage also ensures that the people have less clever knowledge and fewer desires, so that those who consider themselves wise do not dare to act recklessly. Govern according to the principle of Wuwei, and nothing will remain ungoverned.

The “Essential Meaning” says: The venerable sage Laozi composed the Mysterious Classic (Daodejing) to explain the way and Virtue by which rulers govern the state. The world is vast and its things are many. The world may possess these things, but an individual should not claim them as personal property. If those in high positions constantly compare their own worthiness with that of the venerable sage and imagine themselves superior; prize rare goods above all else; and give free rein to their desires, then the people, too, will take these three attitudes to heart, competing and stealing from one another and even provoking disorder.

Because the sage does not covet such things, even when the people receive rewards, they do not secretly fight over them. Thus, in governing the world, the sage first makes the heart-mind quiet and clear, so that affairs do not obstruct it; keeps the belly full, so that harmful thoughts do not enter; weakens the impulse to compete, so as not to contend with external things; and strengthens sinews and bones, without relying on brute force to fight others. The sage ensures that the people do not entertain thoughts of exceeding their proper place or desires to usurp those above them. Even someone as powerful as the giant Lord Longbo of legend, who could catch the Six Ao—six enormous sea turtles—would not dare to overstep his station or usurp a superior’s place. How, then, could there be rebellious ministers and traitors? The rulers of antiquity governed the world by following nature and refraining from contrived action; for that reason, there was nothing they failed to govern well.

The Daodejing says: The Dao (the Way) seems empty, yet in use it is never exhausted. It is deep and subtle, as if the source of all things. It softens its sharpness, untangles confusion, tempers its radiance, and blends with the dust of the world. Deep and hidden, it seems always to exist. I do not know where it came from; in its manifested form, it seems to have existed before the Lord of Heaven.

The Original Meaning says: What governs Heaven and Earth and brings order to the myriad things is the human heart. The heart is the pivot of the Dao; everyone has this heart, and everyone also possesses the Dao. The heart’s subtle workings are empty, still, and far-reaching. It can contain the myriad things, encompassing Heaven and Earth in all directions without feeling full; its understanding reaches throughout the myriad things without departing from their fundamental principles. Once the Dao is regarded as something external, the heart is drawn along and obscured by external things.

When responding to events and encountering external things, first set your own heart in order; then external things will be less able to disturb you. As soon as you notice stray thoughts arising and your mind and spirit becoming unsettled, promptly quiet and dissolve them. When your state of mind has become clear and pure, you can live in harmony with the world, undisturbed by worldly distractions, with all things resting peacefully in their own place. Then the heart’s subtle workings of emptiness and stillness become clear and open, hidden within the small space of the heart, quiet and profound, seeming to be there yet difficult to grasp.

If you say it is “me,” you do not know where it came from. If you say it is not “me,” it nevertheless seems to be the enduring source from which I and the spirits first arose. Who, unless they are clear in themselves and possessed of a spirit-like openness of purpose, could experience this heart’s subtle workings of emptiness and stillness, its numinous clarity and openness?

The Daodejing says: Heaven and Earth have no partial affection in their benevolence; they treat the myriad things as straw dogs used in sacrifice. The sage has no partial affection either, and treats the people as straw dogs. Is not the space between Heaven and Earth like a bellows? Empty within, yet never exhausted; when set in motion, it keeps sending forth air. Too many words can easily lead to difficulty; better to hold fast to the emptiness and stillness of the heart.

The Original Meaning says: Heaven covers the myriad things, Earth supports them, and the sage teaches the people. To let the myriad things and the people grow and live as they naturally should, bringing them to fulfillment without claiming them as one’s own—this is benevolence at its highest.

A benevolent person does not make a reward a condition for doing good, nor discard something simply because it seems useless. Consider the straw figure shaped like a dog and offered in sacrifice. At the start of the rite, even this humble straw dog is displayed with solemn care; once the rite is over, even its elaborate adornments are removed. This does not mean that the person inwardly ranks these things as noble or base, but that they act according to what the occasion requires.

How, then, should we treat the myriad things and the people, who are the means by which Heaven and Earth fulfill their De (Virtue/Power) of covering and supporting all things, and by which the sage accomplishes the work of education?

Between Heaven and Earth, it is like a bellows: hollow yet able to hold, it is not exhausted by its motion; when worked, it does not favor one side, and so its breath keeps flowing out. The Qi of nature stirs the myriad things, and each responds differently. All things change according to their own circumstances, each taking what suits it; none is angered. A sage governing the people should act in the same way. If they are always launching new projects and issuing commands, their policies will become so dense that they lead to hardship. They should instead emulate the emptiness and stillness of Heaven and Earth’s bellows, empty the mind to embody the Dao, and hold to a fitting middle way. This is why Yao governed through respectful stillness and Wuwei (non-action), treating everyone equally, and thereby brought order to all under Heaven.

The Daodejing says: “The spirit of the valley never dies; this is called the Mysterious Female. The gateway of the Mysterious Female is the root of Heaven and Earth. It continues without end, seeming barely to exist; draw upon it, and it is never exhausted.” “The spirit of the valley” refers to the Dao, profound and empty, from which life and transformation arise without ceasing. “The Mysterious Female” uses the image of an obscure, maternal power to symbolize the source from which the myriad things are generated.

“Spirit of the Valley” refers to Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), the fundamental state before the myriad things came into being. Taiji is empty and formless, and the Spirit of the Valley exists within it. Heaven and Earth have a Spirit of the Valley, and so does the human body. Like an empty valley, it is deep and mysterious. It accords with Yin-Yang and contains the generation and transformation of all things. It is called “spirit” because it enables all things to undergo wondrous transformations. Because it does not die, it can ceaselessly bring forth the myriad things.

The “Mysterious Female,” the deep and fertile power at the root of life, is Yin-Yang. The “gate” is the portal through which Qian and Kun (Heaven and Earth) transform, and from which all things are born; the “root” is the source from which all things come into being. It flows on without end, seeming to exist yet formless, and has never ceased from ancient times to the present. Its workings show no effort; they arise entirely of themselves. This passage continues the previous chapter’s image of the bellows between Heaven and Earth: empty yet inexhaustible, moving without pause. It goes on to explain that my mind is like Taiji and my body embodies the Dao of Heaven and Earth. Since I flow together with Nature’s transformations, I am neither truly born nor truly dead.

An empty valley can answer a sound, and so serves as a metaphor for our mind. The stillness of Shen and Qi gives rise to their subtle efficacy, and can be used to explain our nature. By observing the wondrous responsiveness that reaches through the stillness within, we can understand the principle of “not dying.” Yet Shen cannot manifest without Qi, and Qi becomes active through Shen. To speak of Shen is already to include Qi; only when Shen and Qi unite does the Mysterious Female’s function become apparent.

“ Mysterious” has its root in Heaven, whose fatherlike virtue nourishes and brings forth; it is the origin of Shen. “Female” has its root in Earth, whose motherlike virtue nourishes and brings forth; it is the origin of Qi. The Mysterious Female is Heaven and Earth within my body. The “gate” is where Shen and Qi gather and pass back and forth. It seems to exist, yet leaves no visible trace; their coming and going allow us to understand the opening and closing of the body. The “root” is where Shen and Qi return, gather, and unite. It, too, seems to exist but cannot be seen; through the ceaseless process of generation and transformation, we can apprehend Taiji within our body.

By observing the state that continues without end, seeming at once present and absent, we can understand the natural workings that proceed without effort. From this we can see that the essentials of Lao the Sage’s practice of the Dao and cultivation of life are all contained here. He lived for more than nine hundred years, from the Shang through the Zhou dynasty. The Liezi also contains this passage and speaks of the same natural workings, showing that the key to Lao the Sage’s practice of the Dao and cultivation of longevity lies entirely in these teachings.

The Liezi also records these words, but attributes them to the Yellow Emperor rather than Laozi. The Shangshu says that this shows how often Laozi, in his five thousand words, drew on old writings and sayings from ancient books such as the Fen and Dian. In the Daodejing, phrases such as “Therefore the sage…,” “What the ancients said…,” “The teachings of the ancients include…,” “Therefore the sage says…,” and “The one who wages war says…” clearly show that Laozi was expounding the words handed down by the sages of old. In this respect, Confucius, who transmitted rather than created, was similar. Only those who believe in the ancient Dao and delight in the study of antiquity can be spoken with about this principle.

The Dao De Jing says: Heaven endures, and Earth lasts. Heaven and Earth can endure because they do not live for themselves; for this reason, they last. The sage puts himself behind others and thereby comes to the fore; he sets himself apart and thereby preserves himself. Is this not because he has no selfish intent? Thus, in the end, he also fulfills himself.

The Original Meaning explains: Nothing surpasses Heaven’s endurance and Earth’s lastingness. By what principle, then, can Heaven and Earth endure so long? Heaven and Earth’s heart is one with all things. They continually bring forth and transform all things, but do not make survival a matter of seeking only their own benefit. Thus, all things are not harmed, and can live on.

The sage observes and practices the Great Dao without the slightest selfish intent. He knows only to put the world first and himself last; to take the Great Dao into his heart and set himself apart. Yet he still comes to the fore because the people raise him up. He sets himself apart and still preserves himself because he does not harm all things. His own body is what is closest to him, yet he willingly puts himself last and sets himself apart, with no selfish intent to begin with. The result, however, is that he comes after others yet takes the lead, and stands apart from affairs yet remains whole; his own aims are thereby fulfilled. Does the sage deliberately seek private gain? It is precisely because he has no selfish intent that he fulfills himself. What is called “self-interest” here means only bringing oneself to fulfillment. The sage takes Heaven and Earth as his office and all things as his storehouse, never claiming for himself alone the benefits of living. Precisely because he does not seek survival only for himself, the vitality that gives life without end can endure.

The Dao De Jing also says: The highest goodness is like water. Water is good at nourishing all things, yet does not contend with them. It dwells in low places that people all dislike, and so is closest to the Dao. In choosing where to dwell, seek a suitable place; keep the heart as still and deep as a pool; treat others with kindness; speak truthfully; bring order to governance; put your strengths to use in your work; and act at the right time. Precisely because it does not contend, it is without fault.

The Original Meaning explains: “Highest goodness” means the highest form of goodness. Water’s nature is the most benevolent. In choosing where to dwell, seek a suitable place; keep the mind deep and tranquil. Treat others with kindness, speak truthfully, bring order to governance, put your strengths to use in your work, and act at the right time. As long as you do not contend with others, you will be without fault.

“Highest goodness” means the highest form of goodness. Water’s nature most fully embodies it. Those who possess the Virtue of highest goodness are humble in temperament and content to remain below, like water. When Yu the Great served as Minister of Works, an official responsible for waterways and land, he had already grasped the goodness of water’s nature. He was therefore able to control the floods by following that nature, accomplish great works in flood control, and gradually enter the realm of the sage. There was no special trick: he simply followed the natural course of things and refrained from imposing unwarranted interference. Mencius said that no person is without goodness and that water does not flow anywhere but downward; there is a reason for both.

Water has many good qualities. The Dao De Jing identifies seven, and the others can be understood in the same way: water is at ease wherever it is, which is “goodness in dwelling”; water is clear, deep, and still, undisturbed, which is “goodness of heart in depth”; water nourishes all things without favoritism, which is “goodness in giving, through benevolence”; water flows downward without changing its nature, which is “goodness in speech, through trustworthiness”; water is soft and weak yet can overcome what is hard and strong, which is “goodness in governance, through order”; water can bear heavy things and support light ones, which is “goodness in action, through ability”; and water changes with abundance and scarcity without losing its proper timing, which is “goodness in movement, through timeliness.” If people could model their conduct on water’s Virtue, settle themselves in the right way, and deal with others without contention, what fault could they have?

When Shun and Yu passed the imperial throne from one to the other, they should have kept firmly in mind that one must not boast, claim credit, or compete with others. Only Yu, whose virtue was worthy, could discuss merit without contending for credit.

The Dao De Jing says: “Holding something and filling it to the brim is not as good as knowing when to stop. Hammering metal to make it sharp cannot keep it sharp for long. When gold and jade fill a house, no one can keep them safe. Pride in wealth and rank only brings disaster upon oneself. After merit is achieved and fame attained, withdrawing and retiring accords with the Dao of Heaven.”

The Original Meaning says: Humility brings benefit, while fullness invites loss; hardness breaks easily, while gentleness can endure. This is an inevitable principle of Heaven. Therefore, understanding that one should restrain oneself when full and rein in one’s brilliance when it becomes too conspicuous is the way of wisdom and self-preservation. If someone holds something to the brim without knowing to be cautious, or lets their brilliance show without knowing how to conceal it, it is like a vessel filled too full, which must overturn, or a blade’s edge…

When a blade shows too much of its edge, it will be blunted. This shows that nothing can remain strong forever. When a hall is piled high with gold and jade, who can keep it safe? Treating others with arrogance because of wealth and rank only brings loss upon oneself and tarnishes one’s dignity. Sharpness should be restrained in time: this is the principle of protecting oneself through wisdom. If someone holds a high position but knows no caution, exposing their edge and failing to draw it in, they are like a vessel filled too full, which must spill, or a blade sharpened too keenly, which must break.

Those in the world who occupy high office and wield the seals of great authority often grow arrogant and indulgent, never knowing when they have enough. When calamity finally strikes, they may not even be able to save their lives, let alone meet a good end. Better to live in seclusion on Mount Ji like Xu You, drinking only from a single gourd, or to sail across the Five Lakes like Fan Li, living freely. From this we can see that achievements need not be great: knowing when to stop is enough to accomplish something. One need not seek a lofty reputation; knowing contentment brings ease. How many in the world can escape the snare of profit and the constraints of fame, withdraw in time from the rushing current, and preserve the Dao of Heaven? To withdraw once one’s work is done accords with the Dao of Heaven. Only Yao and Shun achieved this.

The Dao De Jing says: “Can you make spirit and body embrace and hold to the One, never parting? Can you focus the vital energy and reach gentleness, like a newborn infant? Can you cleanse the deep inner vision of the heart so that it is without flaw? Can you love the people and govern the state through Wuwei (non-action)? When the Gate of Heaven—the portal through which the body’s or spirit’s energies enter and leave—opens and closes, can you remain yielding and humble? Can you see clearly and understand fully without clinging to knowledge?” These words repeatedly explain that cultivating body and mind calls for focus, gentleness, clarity, and freedom from blemish; governing the people calls for following what is natural and avoiding forced action.

To give life to and nurture the myriad things, yet claim no ownership over them; to act, yet not rely on one’s achievements; to help all things grow, yet not rule over them: this is called “Mysterious De” (profound and natural Virtue).

The Yuanzhi says: One who knows how to cultivate the self can know how to govern the state. The self is like a state, and the hundred bones and limbs of the body are like its many people. Therefore, a noble person must cultivate the self.

At birth, the body bears form and po (the corporeal soul). Can they be brought together as one and kept undivided? To keep them undivided is to unite them. Qi (vital energy) governs the hundred bones and limbs. By concentrating on and guarding Qi, can one make body and mind supple, like a newborn child? To be like a newborn child is to be supple. The mysterious Dao cannot be seen with the eyes. Can one cleanse the mind of what it sees and clings to, leaving it without blemish? Without blemish, one can accord with the mysterious. In caring for the people and governing the state, what matters is bringing them peace. Can this be done through Wuwei (non-action)? Through Wuwei, they can be at peace. When the gates of Heaven—the openings through which the senses or spirit connect with the outside world—open and close, what matters is keeping still. Can one occupy a yielding and humble position? By yielding, one can be still. In perceiving clearly and reaching in all directions, what matters is meeting no obstruction. Can one refrain from claiming to know? By not claiming to know, one will not be obstructed.

One who can put these six capacities into practice can cultivate the self and govern the state: nurture the myriad things through the Dao, sustain them through De (Virtue/Power), and let both self and other things develop in accordance with their own nature. Let all things grow; assist and strengthen them, yet do not claim them as one’s own, rely on one’s achievements, or rule over them. This was how the people lived in the age of Tao Tang, the legendary ancient ruler Yao: they were so unaware that they did not know where the ruler’s power lay. This is called “mysterious De,” a profound virtue that remains unseen.

The Daodejing says: Thirty spokes converge at a wheel hub, but it is the empty space within the hub that makes the wheel useful. Clay is kneaded to make a vessel, but it is the hollow space within the vessel that makes it useful. Doors and windows are cut to build a room, but it is the open space within that makes the room useful. Thus, what has form provides convenience, while the formless emptiness makes the actual use possible.

The Yuanzhi says: The sages observe the forms of the myriad things in Heaven and Earth, then make implements based on what they see, so that people throughout the realm can use them. Every design takes something as its model. Moving, a thing is round; at rest, it is square—these are the forms of Heaven and Earth. The hollow spaces within implements embody the workings of Heaven and Earth. Qi transforms into the sun, moon, and stars; when it condenses into form, it becomes mountains, rivers, plants, and trees. Form exists within the formless, and the formless is also contained within form. Neither is incapable of encompassing the other.

A cart is made by joining thirty spokes at a single hub. The wheel’s round shape takes Heaven as its model, while the cart’s square body takes Earth as its model. The cart’s solid structure is “being”; the hollow spaces in its body and hub are “nonbeing.” It is precisely because of these empty spaces that the cart can serve its purpose. When we see that the hollow hub allows the wheel to turn and the hollow cart body allows it to carry things, we understand: solid things function through the spaces that have no form, while those formless spaces reveal their purpose through solid things. This is where the mystery lies.

The Daodejing speaks of the cart’s spokes and hub, but not its wheel, body, crossbar, or tracks, because the word “cart” already includes its entire structure. The same principle applies to shaping clay into vessels and cutting doors and windows into a house. The Daodejing speaks of “being” and “nonbeing,” while the Yijing speaks of “movement” and “stillness”; both express the same principle. Understanding “nonbeing” lets us see the “stillness” described in the Yijing; understanding “movement” lets us grasp the “being” described in the Daodejing. The meanings of being and nonbeing, and the pivotal changes between movement and stillness, are profoundly far-reaching.

The Daodejing says: The five colors dazzle the eyes; the five tones dull the ears; the five flavors spoil the palate; racing and hunting unsettle the heart and spirit; rare and precious goods hinder people’s conduct. Therefore, the sages give priority to nourishing the body rather than pursuing sensory pleasures. They set aside these temptations and choose what the body truly needs.

The Yuanzhi says: The sages occupy the highest position and serve as teachers and models for the people. People throughout the realm take them as their standard. Whatever those above favor, those below are sure to follow—just as clouds and dragons, and water and fire, respond to one another.

Du Daojian’s Original Meaning says: When a sage holds the highest position, serving as a teacher and example for the people, all under Heaven will take him as their standard. Whatever those above favor, those below will surely follow, just as wind and clouds respond to dragons and tigers, and water and fire respond to what is wet and dry. No summons is needed for a response to come. Therefore, anything that is showy but insubstantial and harms the people’s livelihood should be abandoned rather than pursued.

The sage knows that the Five Colors—the many brilliant hues—dazzle the eyes, so he avoids ornate decoration and remains plain. He knows that the Five Tones—the many intricate musical notes—become clamorous and disturb the hearing, so he does not chase excessively garish music and instead remains quiet. He knows that the Five Flavors, when too rich, spoil the palate, so he does not crave delicacies and instead keeps to simple tastes. He knows that hunting and racing about can unsettle the mind and spirit, so he does not become absorbed in amusements and is content with an ordinary life. He knows that precious and rare goods can hinder people’s conduct, so he does not pursue worldly treasures and instead holds to the Heavenly Nobility of inner De and innate dignity.

These five things are immediate luxuries that unsettle people’s nature. They do nothing to improve the people’s lives, nor do they embody a way to nourish body and mind, strengthen one’s foundations, and secure lasting stability. The sage therefore values making people’s lives abundant rather than pursuing outward splendor. He abandons such temptations, chooses simplicity, and personally practices frugality as an example to the people. In this way, all under Heaven naturally comes under his influence, everyone can be content with what they have, and no one is pulled along by external desires. The world is then at peace.

The Dao De Jing says: “Favor and disgrace are like alarm; regard great calamity as you regard yourself.” What does it mean to say that favor and disgrace are both like alarm? Favor itself places one in a lowly position. When granted favor, one feels apprehensive; when favor is withdrawn, one feels apprehensive as well. This is what is meant by “favor and disgrace are like alarm.”

What does it mean to regard great calamity as you regard yourself? I have great calamity because I have this body. If I had no body, what calamity could befall me? Thus, one who cherishes all under Heaven as one cherishes oneself may be entrusted with all under Heaven; one who cares for all under Heaven as one cares for oneself may be given charge of it.

The Original Meaning says: The sage follows the Great Dao and cherishes himself, while ordinary people use their reputation to elevate themselves. The difference between them is vast. To cherish oneself through the Dao is to follow one’s nature and avoid forced action; to cherish oneself through reputation is to be willing to do anything.

“Favor and disgrace are both like alarm” means that where there is favor, there can also be its loss and the disgrace that follows. How could one not worry? To regard great calamity as one regards oneself means that those who value themselves and their reputation equally are, in truth, worried about the same thing.

What are favor and disgrace? Receiving favor means occupying a lowly position; this is why the gains and losses of reputation become apparent. Gaining a reputation is like being startled, and losing it is like being startled too. To fear both gain and loss is unsettling either way. What does it mean to regard great calamity as one regards oneself? I suffer great calamity because I have this body. With a body, I become attached to external things, and attachment to them inevitably entangles me in reputation. If I can forget external things, I will no longer cling to my body, and I can escape the entanglements reputation brings. These words are directed chiefly at ordinary people who cherish themselves through reputation. What troubles could the sage, who cherishes himself through the Dao, have?

Only when we understand that reputation is not worth valuing can we see the worth of the self. Only when we understand that the self, too, is not what matters most can we see the worth of the Great Dao. Once we see the Great Dao’s worth, what troubles could remain?

When the states of Han and Wei disputed over land, Zihua Zi advised Marquis Zhaoxi: “Even if you had to give up both your arms, you should do so in exchange for all under Heaven.” Marquis Zhaoxi refused. This shows that he considered his two arms more valuable than all under Heaven. The body is more valuable than two arms, and the Dao is more valuable than the body. If a gentleman has no choice but to govern all under Heaven, he must understand how to govern it with the same care he gives to himself; only then can he bear the responsibility entrusted to him by all under Heaven. He must also treat all under Heaven with the same care he gives to himself; only then can he accept its trust. “Esteem” concerns status, and status can be entrusted with responsibility; “care” concerns De (Virtue), and De can bear a trust. Yet status can be relinquished, while De cannot. Once this is understood, favor and disgrace cease to matter. What troubles could remain?

The Dao De Jing says: “Look at it, but it cannot be seen; it is called Yi. Listen for it, but it cannot be heard; it is called Xi. Reach for it, but it cannot be grasped; it is called Wei.” These three cannot be pursued to their end, and so they merge into one.

The Dao De Jing says: Looking at it, you cannot see it; this is called “yi.” Listening for it, you cannot hear it; this is called “xi.” Reaching out to touch it, you cannot grasp it; this is called “wei.” These three qualities cannot be pursued to their limits, so they are brought together and regarded as one. Above, it is not bright; below, it is not dark. It extends without end and cannot be named, then returns at last to a state without form or substance. This is called “the shape without shape, the image without any concrete thing,” and is also called “indistinct and elusive.” Face it, and you cannot see its beginning; follow it, and you cannot see its end. To grasp the Dao that has existed since ancient times and use it to govern the things that exist now—to know the beginnings of remote antiquity—is to hold the guiding principles of the Dao.

The Original Meaning says: People cannot do without understanding the Dao, and the Dao must be traced back to the ancient beginning. The ancient beginning must have had a starting point, and that starting point must have involved some kind of existence. The things under Heaven are numerous, yet which of them does not embody the Dao? And what kind of Dao is not present within things? That is why no definite name can be assigned to them. Try looking with the eyes, listening with the ears, or touching with the hands, and you find it has no visible form, no audible sound, and nothing that can be grasped. Try to pursue it in words, and it still cannot be fully explored. So these qualities can only be brought together and regarded as one.

Look above it: nothing bright or distinct appears. Look below it: nothing dark or obscure appears. It extends without end and cannot be named; once it is given a name, it seems to return to formlessness and insubstantiality. It is the shape without shape, the image without any concrete thing, indistinct and elusive. Face it, and you cannot see its beginning; follow it, and you cannot see its end. From this we can see that nothing fails to embody the Dao, and the Dao exists apart from no thing. This is what the Dao is like.

If people can grasp this subtle, formless Dao that has existed since ancient times and use it to govern the concrete, visible things of the present, they can do more than cultivate themselves. They can also govern the world by the Dao’s guiding principles, bringing the myriad things together in their return to the Dao. In that case, who would still treat external things as objects worth pursuing?

Those in ancient times who were skilled in cultivating the Dao were subtle and profound, able to understand how things worked, and unfathomable in their depth. Because they were so difficult to understand, people could only use images to describe them: cautious, like crossing a river in winter; wary, as if alert to danger on every side; dignified, like a guest who dares not act casually; relaxed and natural, like ice about to melt; plain and uncarved, like raw wood; open and spacious, like a valley; indistinct, like muddy water.

Who can still muddy water and let it gradually clear? Who can set what is settled in motion and let it gradually come to life? Those who hold to this Dao do not seek perfection. Precisely because they do not seek perfection, they avoid decline and can continually renew themselves.

[Bracketed passage in the original] Open and spacious like a valley; indistinct like muddy water. Who can still muddy water and let it gradually clear? Who can set what is settled in motion and let it gradually come to life? Those who hold to this Dao do not seek perfection. Precisely because they do not seek perfection, they can avoid decline and continually bring forth new things.

The Explanation of the Original Meaning says: Those in ancient times who were skilled in cultivating the Dao held fast to the Great Dao and were at ease with what was natural. They quietly nurtured De and cultivated themselves, adapting to the changes of the world without becoming complacent or self-important. They understood the subtle, mysterious principles that reach through all things, and ordinary people could not easily comprehend them. Precisely because they were so hard to understand, they could only be described through a few images.

The seven qualities described below all convey uprightness and balance, without leaning to either side: being gentle, yet not swept along by the crowd.

“Cautious, as if crossing a river in winter” means not rushing forward. “Wary, as if danger lurked on every side” means not acting recklessly. “Dignified, like a guest” means not behaving without restraint or courtesy. “Yielding, like ice about to melt” means not being rigid or stuck. “Simple, like uncarved wood” means not embellishing oneself deliberately. “Open, like a valley” means remaining unobstructed and not assuming one has gained something. “Deep, like muddy water” means neither putting on airs nor acting in haste.

Who can let muddy water settle and slowly grow clear? Who can stir what is at rest and gradually bring it to life? The rise and fall, safety and danger of human affairs are like fullness and emptiness, decline and growth in the course of Heaven: when movement reaches its limit, it turns to stillness; when stillness reaches its limit, it turns to movement. If Qu Yuan had understood this principle, perhaps his loyalty need not have ended in drowning himself in the river. If Boyi had understood it, perhaps he need not have starved to death in his devotion to moral purity.

Thus, those who hold fast to the Great Dao do not seek perfection, nor cling to the demand that their own wishes must be fulfilled. Because they do not insist on achieving personal ends, even when things decline, they do not force them to be remade anew. In other words, they keep to the constant Dao and make no drastic changes. Laozi lived through the Shang and Zhou dynasties, passed out through the San Pass three times and entered the archives four times, living at ease for more than nine hundred years. Only in old age did he travel toward the land of drifting sands; after that, no one knew where he went. This is a sign of his skill in cultivating the Dao.

The Dao De Jing says: “Bring the mind to utmost emptiness and firmly maintain stillness. The myriad things grow together; from this I observe how they return. The myriad things flourish, and each returns to its root. Returning to the root is called stillness; stillness is called returning to one’s original nature; returning to one’s original nature is called constancy. Knowing constancy is called wisdom. Not knowing constancy and acting recklessly brings misfortune. Knowing constancy allows one to be inclusive; being inclusive allows one to be impartial; being impartial allows one to become the ruler of all under Heaven. Becoming the ruler of all under Heaven allows one to accord with Heaven; according with Heaven allows one to accord with the Dao. Accord with the Dao, and life endures; to the end of one’s days, there is no danger.”

The Original Meaning says: Before the myriad things appeared, there was Heaven and Earth; before Heaven and Earth appeared, there was the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji); and before the Supreme Ultimate appeared, there was a state of utter emptiness and stillness. At that time, there was a presence that had not yet manifested, the source of Heaven and Earth. The text does not say “attain the Supreme Ultimate,” but rather “abide in the utmost emptiness and stillness,” because their utmost is the Non-Ultimate (Wuji).

In the deep stillness of the beginning, all things arose together. I observed how they cycled and returned, and so the inner nature of Heaven and Earth became apparent. The myriad things flourish and grow, then each returns to its root. Returning to the root is stillness; stillness is a return to life’s source. Returning to the source is the constant Dao (the Way); knowing the constant Dao is clarity. From this, we see that when I return to the root and to the source, I can know the constant Dao and understand things. If I do not know the constant Dao, I will act recklessly, invite danger, and drift ever farther from the Dao.

Knowing the constant Dao makes one inclusive. Inclusiveness arises from a calm and empty heart. With inclusiveness, one can be impartial; when the heart is empty and still, one’s perspective becomes vast. Impartiality makes one fit to be a ruler; with a vast heart, the people of the world will turn to one. The ruler takes Heaven as a model; Heaven takes the Dao as its model. The Dao endures, and the Dao takes what is natural as its model. If one remains at ease and unharmed, one can understand that before the Supreme Ultimate there was a presence of utter emptiness and stillness, not yet manifested—and that it truly remains at ease and unharmed.

The Dao De Jing says: The best rulers are those whom the people know only to exist. The next best are those whom the people love and praise; the next, those whom they fear; and the worst, those whom they despise. When rulers lack trustworthiness, the people will not trust them. They act with care and do not issue commands lightly. When the work is done and the undertaking completed, the people all say, “We did this naturally, of our own accord.”

The Original Meaning says: In ancient times, people lived in nests in trees or in caves, without burdens such as taxes or forced labor. Nor were there ritual codes.

The “Original Meaning” says that in remote antiquity, people lived in tree nests or caves. There were no taxes or forced labor, no ritual or music, no criminal laws, and no statutes or commands. The people knew there was a ruler above them, and the ruler knew there were people below him. Everyone lived in ease and freedom, following their natural course, while government operated through Wuwei (non-action).

Later, the Three Sovereigns created writing and tally documents, used for recordkeeping and authentication. They also made fishing nets, farming tools, boats, and carts, and taught the people throughout the realm. From then on, people began to undertake all kinds of activities. The people benefited from these things and so drew close to their rulers. Later still, the Five Emperors arose and established ritual, music, and laws. The people consequently found stability, and the people of the realm praised them.

After that, Xia Qi attacked the Youhu, Shang Tang drove out Xia Jie, and King Wu of Zhou campaigned against Shang Zhou. Wars broke out, and the people of the realm came to fear them. Later still, King Zhao of Zhou led a southern campaign, King Yi of Zhou descended from the hall to receive the feudal lords, and King Ping of Zhou moved the capital east. The feudal lords asked the Son of Heaven for permission to use the tunnel burial rite, and also inquired after the whereabouts of the Nine Tripods. The people of the realm began to look down on their rulers. The reason was that those above no longer had enough trustworthiness and authority to win the confidence of those below, and those below no longer believed those above.

When Tang Yao governed the realm, the people lived within his order without realizing it, and could not even name his achievements. What more is there to say about such a state? Does the Book of Rites not say: “Highest is to establish virtue; next is to accomplish deeds; after that is to leave words behind”? The latter two are both undertaken out of necessity.

Alas, from remote antiquity through the era of the Five Hegemons, the author sums up the relationship between the people of the realm and their rulers in just a few phrases: they knew of their existence, drew close to them, praised them, feared them, or looked down on them. Yet not a single ancient person is named. These words encompass thousands of years, subtly allowing the reader to infer the history within them. They are indeed profound. I therefore believe this is an anonymous history of antiquity. The Master Guan also said that when Yao, Shun, Yu, and Tang governed the realm, everyone said that everything seemed to have come about naturally.

The Jing (classic) says: “These words encompass thousands of years, subtly allowing the reader to infer the history within them. They are indeed profound. I therefore believe this is an anonymous history of antiquity. The Master Guan also said that when Yao, Shun, Yu, and Tang governed the realm, everyone said that everything seemed to have come about naturally.”

The Dao Jing (Classic of the Way) says: “Only after the Great Dao was abandoned did benevolence and righteousness appear. Once cleverness and wisdom arose, great deceit followed. When family members were at odds, filial devotion and parental love stood out; when the state was in turmoil, loyal ministers came to light.”

The Yuan Zhi explains: With the rise of the Three Sovereigns, the Great Dao began to decline, marking the start of the loss of simplicity. With the rise of the Five Emperors, benevolence and righteousness appeared; with the rise of the Three Kings, cleverness and wisdom arose; with the emergence of the Five Hegemons, deceit grew more severe. This carries forward the meaning of the previous chapter and further describes the gradual decline of virtue in the world: from the way of the sovereigns and the virtue of the emperors, to the way of kings and the power of hegemons, cleverness and deceit continued to grow. As social customs became increasingly shallow, loyalty and filial devotion came into view. Is this not an inevitable pattern in the turning of Heaven’s cycles?

Alas, I can no longer verify what life was like in remote antiquity. In a society like that of Tao Tang—the legendary age of Emperor Yao—every household was worthy of being enfeoffed. How could anyone tell who was a loyal minister or a filial son? Later, the great Shun was unfortunate enough to have Gu Sou, a stubborn father, and Ao Xiang, a difficult younger brother. Gu Sou once sent Shun to dig a well and repair a granary, while Ao Xiang repeatedly tried to kill him. Yet Shun always hoped that his father would eventually be pleased and content. It was precisely because his father was stubborn and his brother arrogant and difficult that Shun’s filial devotion and loving kindness came to light.

Had Xia Jie not been tyrannical, Guan Longfeng would not have been killed; had Shang Zhou not been depraved and cruel, Bi Gan would not have died for remonstrating with him. How else could a minister’s loyalty have been revealed? Thus, when relatives live in harmony, filial devotion may not be celebrated, but that does not mean the filial heart is absent. When the world is at peace, loyal ministers may not be conspicuous, but that does not mean loyalty is absent. Alas, the more prominently loyalty and filial devotion are displayed throughout the world, the more this shows that benevolence and righteousness have been lost and deceit is on the rise—and that society has moved ever farther from the simple, honest ways of remote antiquity.

The Dao Jing also says: “Abandon so-called sage wisdom, and the people will gain a hundredfold. Abandon benevolence and righteousness, and the people will return to filial devotion and loving kindness. Abandon cunning and the pursuit of profit, and thieves will not appear.” If these three statements are treated as mere wording, their meaning remains incomplete. So we must also explain what they should return to: preserve what is genuine, hold fast to simplicity, lessen selfishness, and reduce desire.

The Original Meaning commentary holds that sagacity, wisdom, benevolence, and righteousness are the foundations of governing the world. How, then, could they all be discarded? This passage continues the point made in the previous chapter: when ordinary people chase after profit, the customs of filial respect and kind affection decline, and thieves and bandits arise as a result. We should reduce empty ornamentation so that plain and simple ways can be restored.

If anyone uses the name of “sagacity and wisdom” to deceive the people, the name of “benevolence and righteousness” to provoke armed conflict, or cunning schemes for profit that give rise to theft, these practices should be abandoned. The people can then live in peace, the land can yield more, and every household can enjoy an adequate livelihood. In this way, the customs of filial respect and kind affection can return. Where, then, would thieves and bandits come from?

The Original Meaning commentary also says that by the final years of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties, morality had declined from what it was in antiquity. Some people raised the banners of sagacity and wisdom, benevolence and righteousness, and clever profit-seeking, but were merely borrowing the words of the former kings and dressing them up to deceive their contemporaries. Take Tian Chang, who murdered the ruler of Qi and seized the state: how was that any different from what a thief does? Since the embellishments of these three things cannot be trusted, people must be given something to which they can return: they should look back with admiration to the ancient kings and seek to restore the ancient Way; outwardly they should appear plain and unadorned, and inwardly cultivate sincerity and kindness. Those in high positions should first put themselves in order, thereby guiding the people. Even if they cannot become entirely free of selfishness and desire, they should reduce them as much as possible and refrain from acting like thieves. Once the people have adequate livelihoods, the customs of filial respect and kind affection can be restored.

The Dao De Jing says, “Abandon learning, and there will be no anxiety.” This means letting go of contrived, ornate learning so that distress may be reduced. Only then can people return to their plain and generous nature.

The Dao De Jing says: “Set aside worldly learning, and there will be no worries. How great is the difference between a respectful reply and a casual one? How far apart are good and evil? What people fear cannot be disregarded. These distinctions stretch far and wide, with no end in sight.

“Everyone is buoyant and delighted, as if attending a lavish sacrificial feast or climbing a high terrace on a spring day to admire the view. I alone am cautious and hesitant, my thoughts not yet revealed, like an infant who has not yet grown and cannot yet laugh, bewildered and without a place to turn. Everyone seems to have enough; I alone seem to have lost something. How foolish my mind must be! Everyone is clear-sighted and clever; I alone am dull. Everyone is sharp and exacting; I alone make no distinctions. I am vast like the sea, quiet as though without end. Everyone has something to rely on; I alone am stubborn and crude. I am different from everyone else: what I cherish is drawing nourishment from the mother.”

Du Daojian explains in Original Meaning: The sage’s path is learning gained through understanding oneself; the worldly path is learning sought from outside. The sage does not pursue what is gained from outside. That is why the text says, “Set aside worldly learning, and there will be no worries.”

“How great is the difference between a respectful reply and a casual one, between good and evil?” This points out how much importance people attach to these distinctions. The phrase “what people fear” refers to the people and the worldly-minded mentioned later, so one cannot simply disregard what they fear. People are excited and self-satisfied, feel that they have enough, and are clear-sighted and discerning; they have already taken action and found things to rely on. The sage, however, remains empty and still, like an infant whose thoughts have not yet emerged, bewildered and without a place to turn.

The “mother” in the text is the Dao. To draw nourishment from the mother is to seek within oneself—to seek what is “within me.” This is precisely the learning gained through understanding oneself. Once this inner understanding is truly attained, one no longer pursues what is gained from outside. Worldly learning can then be set aside, and the heart will be free of worries.

“Vast De follows only the Dao (the Way)” means that great Virtue (De) fully accords with the Dao. Here, “De” is the Dao attained within the heart, while “bearing” refers to one’s capacity. When the heart holds great De, one’s capacity is broad enough to embrace all things.

What, then, is the Dao like? It is indistinct and elusive, difficult to perceive, yet not wholly absent. In its elusiveness, there seem to be images and tangible things; in its deep obscurity, it contains a subtle essence. Its subtlety is real and not illusory, and within it lies a basis that can be trusted.

From ancient times to the present, the name of the Dao has been passed down without interruption. It existed before Heaven and Earth, so the Dao spoken of throughout the ages has always been one and the same. Heaven and Earth are vast, and the myriad things are countless. By what means can people know their underlying principles? By relying on the Dao they experience and attain within themselves; beginning from this experience, they can observe Heaven, Earth, and all things.

The Dao De Jing says: “Yield, and you will remain whole; bend, and you will become straight; stay low, and you will be filled; let the old break down, and you will be renewed; take little, and you will gain; grasp at too much, and you will be confused.” Thus the sage holds to the “Oneness of the Dao,” the fundamental unity of the Dao, and makes it the standard for all under Heaven. He does not try to display himself, and so he sees clearly; he does not insist that he is right, and so he is recognized; he does not boast, and so he achieves merit; he is not complacent, and so he endures. Precisely because he does not contend with others, no one under Heaven can contend with him. The ancients said, “Yield, and you will remain whole.” Could this really be empty talk? Indeed, if you hold to this principle, you will ultimately attain wholeness.

The Original Meaning explains: Within yielding, one can preserve sincerity; preserving sincerity leads to wholeness. The sage holds to the “Oneness of the Dao” and becomes the standard for all under Heaven by means of sincerity. If you sincerely hold to your own bentness, in time it will naturally become straight; hold to what is low, and in time it will naturally become full; hold to what is worn out, and in time it will naturally be renewed; take little, and in time you will naturally gain. If you lack sincerity even a little, and mistake grasping at too much for gain, you will fall into confusion. Once confused, you cannot truly gain anything. Thus the sage does not try to display himself, and so he sees clearly; he does not insist that he is right, and so he is recognized; he does not boast, and so he achieves merit; he is not complacent, and so he endures. If you can hold to the six principles just described, you can embody the four qualities that follow. Then you will not contend with external things, and naturally no one under Heaven will contend with you. The ancients said, “Yield, and you will remain whole.” Could this really be empty talk? If I can hold to the “Oneness of the Dao” that I uphold and make it the standard for all under Heaven, I can preserve sincerity and attain wholeness.

The Dao De Jing also says: “Speak little and follow what is natural. A gale does not last all morning; a downpour does not last all day. What makes them so? Heaven and Earth. If even the power of Heaven and Earth cannot sustain a fierce state for long, how much less can a person?” Therefore, those who cultivate the Dao should accord with the state they are engaged in: those who cultivate the Dao accord with the Dao; those who cultivate De accord with De; those who lose the Dao and De accord with loss. When you accord with the Dao, the Dao also receives you; when you accord with De, De also returns to you; when you accord with loss, loss follows you as well. If your trustworthiness is insufficient, others will not trust you.

The Yuan Zhi says: “Speak little and follow what is natural. Do not rely on words to express the Dao, or deliberately act to accomplish something. This is the Way of utmost sincerity without end. If you treat words as the sole foundation, your inner sincerity will be lacking; when sincerity is lacking, others naturally will not believe you.”

This chapter carries forward the preceding discussion of sincerity and explains that whether one attains or loses the Dao depends on being sincere. Sincerity enables one to attain the Dao; insincerity leads one to lose it. Violent winds and rain harm all things, flattening and damaging them, yet they often do not last even a whole day. They cannot sustain themselves for long, much less serve as an expression of utmost sincerity. Though violent winds and rain come from Heaven and Earth, even Heaven and Earth cannot make them last. How much less can a person?

When a state enacts harsh and cruel policies that harm the people and drive them into hardship, those policies too will eventually prove difficult to sustain. This is likewise not the Way of utmost sincerity. Governing with sincerity means not imposing cruel and oppressive policies. Whether people throughout the realm act in accordance with the Way often depends on the conduct of those in positions of authority: when those above follow the Dao, those below will also turn toward it; when those above follow De, those below will likewise turn toward De; when those above lose the Dao, those below will follow suit. By aligning with the Dao, one attains the Dao; by aligning with De, one attains De; by aligning with the loss of the Dao, one also reaps the consequences of losing it. The words “When sincerity is lacking, others will not believe you” deserve careful reflection.

The Doctrine of the Mean says that sincerity begins in what is subtle; when it is sincere, it becomes apparent. What is apparent becomes clear, what is clear becomes intelligible, what is intelligible moves others, and what moves others brings about change. Only when change has taken root can it give rise to transformation through teaching. Only the most sincere person in all the world can nurture and transform the myriad things. To begin with sincerity in what is subtle, pass through these successive changes, and finally reach the point of transforming others through teaching is truly no easy task. A noble person who holds office and wields authority over policy, seeking to transform the world, should all the more persevere in the Way of utmost sincerity and never grow lax.

The Daodejing says: “Rising onto your toes makes you unsteady; taking long strides keeps you from going far. Those who esteem themselves too highly fail to see clearly; those who insist they are right fail to gain recognition; those who boast of themselves accomplish nothing; those who exalt themselves cannot endure. In the view of the Dao, these behaviors are like leftovers and needless excess. People often detest them, so one who has the Dao does not act this way.”

The Original Meaning explains that a person’s pursuit of office is like traveling the roads of the world: the two may seem different, but they are always connected. If someone single-mindedly chases fame and success and grows impatient for quick results, they will drift ever farther from the Dao.

When someone occupies a low position but sets their sights high, and is eager in their heart to gain more, they rise onto their toes, straining to reach for it. In this way, they not only fail to obtain what they want, but also lose their footing. “Taking long strides keeps you from going far” likewise describes what happens when one rushes ahead with steps that are too large.

This is because the heart does not understand the Way and is led by desire. It longs for fame and success beyond what is properly its own, without realizing that such thoughts plunge a person into confusion they cannot control. They stop only after setbacks and exhaustion—a truly pitiable state. Thus, those who esteem themselves too highly cannot see clearly; those who insist they are right cannot gain recognition; those who boast of themselves accomplish nothing; and those who exalt themselves cannot endure. These six ways of acting are, in relation to the Dao, like leftover food and needless excess. They readily invite people’s disgust, and one who has the Dao will not adopt them.

At the end, the text again quotes the Daodejing: “There is something whole and undivided, existing before Heaven and Earth took shape.” It then repeats the scripture’s lines about boasting of oneself, exalting oneself, and how one who has the Dao does not adopt such ways.

The Dao De Jing says: There is a unified existence that was already present before Heaven and Earth took shape. It is silent and still, empty and without form. It operates independently without hindrance, circling endlessly without pause. It may be called the source of all things under Heaven. I do not know its original name, so I call it “Dao”; if forced to give it another name, I call it “Great.” What is great keeps moving without cease; what moves without cease reaches far, and what reaches far returns.

Thus, Dao is great, Heaven is great, Earth is great, and the ruler is also great. Among the four great things between Heaven and Earth, the ruler is one. Human beings take Earth as their model; Earth takes Heaven as its model; Heaven takes Dao as its model; and Dao follows what is natural. Here, “natural” means what happens of itself, what is so by its own nature.

The Original Meaning says, “There is a whole and undivided presence that existed before Heaven and Earth.” Before Heaven and Earth appeared, it seemed there was nothing at all. If such a whole and undivided presence existed, what exactly was it?

Before Heaven and Earth took shape, there were said to be the “Five Great Beginnings.” The Liezi mentions only Great Change, Great Inception, Great Origin, and Great Purity, and does not mention the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji). It also says that Qi, form, and substance were all present, but had not yet separated from one another; this state was therefore called “undifferentiated wholeness.” The term describes all things mingled as one, before they had divided. Is this not the Supreme Ultimate? The Liezi explains matters as far as this, showing that “a thing formed in wholeness” does not mean some particular object, but the state in which all things are joined in undivided unity.

I once said, “Before my body existed, Heaven and Earth already existed; before Heaven and Earth took shape, my mind already existed.” The “mind” spoken of here is the Dao. Is this mind found only in me? Everyone has such a mind, and everyone’s mind contains the Dao. To recognize this is to know the Dao; to experience it is to attain the Dao. But how can the Dao be known, and how can it be attained? Just as I was about to explain, I forgot what I meant to say.

Once, after sweeping and cleaning, I sat quietly beside a desk. My mind and spirit seemed to have advanced somewhat, and I happened to look up and contemplate the Dao that is complete from the beginning. Silent and spacious, without trace or form, it stands alone and moves without ceasing. All things continually come into being through its transformations, and from ancient times to the present it has never changed. It should rightly be called the source of all things under Heaven. Laozi spoke modestly, saying he did not know its name and could only call it the “Dao”; if forced to give it a name, he called it “Great.”

This passage portrays the Dao’s mystery as though the speaker had suddenly risen to speak with force. The opening chapter says that the “Nameless” is the beginning of Heaven and Earth. Here, what was originally hidden and unseen becomes apparent and can no longer remain concealed.

“Great” is also called “moving onward”: this means to travel and proceed. “Moving onward” is also called “far-reaching,” meaning that it extends without limit. “Far-reaching” is also called “returning”; to return is to come back to the source. Through this return, one can experience the life-giving heart of Heaven and Earth. The Dao’s cycles of fullness and decline, growth and waning, turn back upon themselves like a ring without beginning or end. Before Heaven and Earth, we do not know where it began; after Heaven and Earth, we cannot see where it ends.

Thus, when we use the Dao to observe Heaven and Earth, we see the vastness of the Dao; when we use Heaven and Earth to observe the ruler, we see the vastness of Heaven and Earth; when we use the ruler to observe the people, we see the ruler’s greatness. Yet if we trace these matters back to their source, all four kinds of greatness lie within the boundless and empty expanse, and all are governed by the laws of nature.

If people can look up to observe the heavens and look down to examine the earth, seek evidence nearby and investigate what is far away, infer the way of Heaven from things on Earth, and thereby understand the Dao and nature and take them as their standard, then inwardly they can set their thoughts straight and make their intentions sincere; outwardly they can cultivate themselves, order their families, govern the state, and bring peace to the world. When their work is complete, they can withdraw and live apart, reaching a state beyond the ordinary and entering the realm of the sages, devoting themselves to the Dao without suffering harm. Such people can remain with the Dao for a long time.

Alas, where can one find someone who truly understands nature, with whom to discuss these principles? Only those who understand nature can speak about the Dao. In another version, the character “great” is written as “person”; if it is written as “king,” it includes the meaning of “person.” The character “king” is used here out of reverence for the ruler.

The Dao De Jing says: “Steadiness is the foundation of lightness; stillness is the master of agitation. Therefore, the noble person travels all day without leaving the baggage train—the carts that carry provisions and supplies. Even amid splendid scenery, they remain at ease and self-possessed. Why should a ruler of a great state treat the world so lightly? Lightness leads to the loss of ministers; agitation leads to the loss of the throne.”

The Yuanzhi explains: “The principle of the world is that steadiness can restrain lightness, and stillness can restrain agitation. This is the way of nature. Steadiness and stillness are the roots, like a ruler; lightness and agitation are the branches and leaves, like ministers and subjects. When the roots are firm, the branches and leaves flourish; when the ruler remains still, the people can be at peace. From this we can infer that the world will surely submit, and the four seas will be calm and clear.

“The noble person travels all day without leaving the baggage train and remains at ease and self-possessed even amid splendid scenery. The noble person spoken of here understands the Dao: in action, they do not lose their steadiness; in repose, they do not lose their stillness. How lamentable that some rulers of great states prove less capable than those who understand the Dao, unable to preserve steadiness and stillness. Xia Jie and Shang Zhou are examples of rulers who treated the world lightly.

“Yi Yin went to Shang Tang five times in succession and still was not appointed. Weizi, meanwhile, carried the ancestral sacrificial vessels with him when he went over to the Zhou. These are examples of a ruler acting lightly and losing his ministers. Yu the Great and Shang Tang established enduring foundations, yet in later generations their states fell because foolish rulers were tyrannical and unrighteous. These are examples of rulers becoming agitated and losing their sense of measure, and thereby losing the throne. How could those who possess a state and a household not take warning from this?”

The Daodejing says: “Those skilled at walking leave no tracks; those skilled at speaking make no mistakes; those skilled at reckoning use no counting rods or tools; those skilled at closing a gate need no bolt, yet no one can open it; those skilled at tying knots use no rope, yet no one can untie them. Thus the sage is always skilled at helping people, and so abandons no one; always skilled at helping things, and so abandons nothing. This is called ‘inheriting clarity’—taking up and putting wisdom into practice. A good person can be a teacher to someone who is not good, and someone who is not good can serve as a lesson for a good person. If one neither respects one’s teacher nor values what can serve as a lesson, then, even if one thinks oneself to understand the truth, one is in fact gravely confused. This is the profound and essential principle.”

The Yuanzhi explains: “There are two kinds of goodness: one is the goodness of kindness and gentleness, and the other is the goodness of being fitting and appropriate. When a person understands what is fitting and appropriate, they can handle matters in every way suitably, and all they do can be good. Being skilled at walking, speaking, reckoning, closing, and tying knots all means handling things with just the right measure. To leave no tracks, make no mistakes, use no counting tools, need no bolt to keep a gate from opening, and use no rope yet make a knot impossible to untie means that, when faced with things, one naturally leaves no opening for others to exploit.

“Thus the sage uses their own goodness to help people and all things, abandoning neither anyone nor anything. This is called ‘inheriting clarity’: acting in accordance with what the Dao makes fitting, and doing nothing inappropriate.

“A good person can be a teacher to someone who is not good; someone who is not good can also serve as a lesson for a good person. A teacher is someone who teaches others through the good way. But if one is intent on making oneself a teacher to others, one will become attached to one’s status as a teacher. This is why Mencius once declined to be another person’s teacher. A lesson is meant to help one make good use of people; but if one treats others merely as resources to use, one loses one’s care for them. For this reason, a noble person does not harm others under the pretext of nurturing and helping them. The sage neither treats their role as teacher as something to exalt, nor treats others as resources to be used. From the ordinary worldly perspective, this may seem like understanding the truth while being deeply confused. From the perspective of the Dao, it is precisely the profound and essential principle.”

The Dao De Jing says: Know strength, yet remain gentle, like the streams of the world that embrace and gather all things. Keep this enduring De, and you will not stray from the Great Dao. You will return to the childlike state of pure, gentle simplicity.

Know brightness, yet remain in shadow, and you can become a model for the world. Keep this De, and you will not strive to dominate or win. You will return to the limitless—the undivided source without boundaries.

Know honor, yet rest content in disgrace, like the valleys of the world, open and receptive. Keep this De, and you will be full and complete, returning to the uncarved simplicity of the original state.

When uncarved simplicity is divided, it becomes the many particular things and implements. The sage applies its principle and becomes a leader among the people. Thus, truly great governance does not divide the whole; it allows all things to find their proper place.

The Original Meaning says: “‘Infant’ is a metaphor for the mysterious substance of our own being; ‘Non-Being’ is a metaphor for the mysterious substance of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things; and ‘uncarved wood’ is a metaphor for the mysterious substance of the Dao.

“Understanding the mysterious substance of one’s own being enables one to remain soft and lowly, without a desire to compete or prevail. In this way, one can become the stream of the world. Here, the stream is a metaphor for the sea, which can receive the waters of a hundred rivers. We can see from this that constant De has not departed from the mysterious substance of one’s own being, and ultimately returns to a state of childlike innocence.

“Understanding the mysterious substance of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things enables one to remain hidden in darkness, without rushing to display one’s brightness. In this way, one can become the model for the world. Becoming the model for the world is a metaphor for ‘embracing the One’—holding fast to the root and bringing the many into unity. The One can unite the many and encompass all things. We can see from this that constant De has not departed from the mysterious substance of one’s own being, and ultimately returns to a childlike state. Further, constant De accords with the mysterious substance of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things, and ultimately returns to Non-Being.

“Understanding the mysterious substance of the Dao enables one to be content with a low position and not covet honor. To ‘keep to disgrace’ means to remain in a lowly position. In this way, one can become the valley of the world. The valley is a metaphor for a deep ravine, whose depths cannot be fathomed. When Yang Qi first arises, the source of primordial Qi lies within it. Thus constant De becomes full within the mysterious substance of the Dao, and ultimately returns to ‘uncarved wood,’ the state of simplicity before carving.

“When uncarved wood is split apart, it forms particular things. The sacred vessel of the world—the world as a whole, sacred and not to be arbitrarily controlled—can be put to good use by a sage. The sage can then serve as a leader, governing the world without causing harm or division.

“The Classic says: ‘To try to seize the world and forcibly govern it, I think, is ultimately impossible. The world is a sacred vessel and cannot be treated arbitrarily; those who force their actions will fail. Those who insist on holding it will lose it. Thus among things, some go ahead while others follow; some are gentle while others are forceful; some are strong while others are weak; some carry while others overturn. Therefore the sage casts off extremes, extravagance, and excess.’”

Du Daojian’s Yuanzhi says: When a sage occupies the throne and governs the realm, he is like the sea receiving a hundred rivers. He need only make room for the rivers as they flow into it. If he thinks only of taking from the people, the hundred rivers will dry up and the streams will cease to flow into the sea; its waters will soon run dry. A ruler who holds the highest position yet thinks only of extracting the realm’s wealth and amassing it through exactions is like a sea that dries up the hundred rivers and cuts off their flow. Such a ruler cannot endure for long.

The realm is a “sacred vessel,” meaning the treasured seat occupied by the emperor, on which the people’s livelihood depends. It cannot be manipulated through clever schemes or seized by force. Deliberate interference will spoil it; trying to hold it by force will make it slip away. Thus things sometimes advance and sometimes follow; sometimes they are warmed and sometimes buffeted by the wind; sometimes they grow strong and sometimes decline; sometimes they are secure and sometimes they are overturned. The “thing” spoken of here is the realm, this sacred vessel on which all under Heaven depend. It should not be treated as a ruler’s private property. “Following and advancing” refers to migration and change; “warming and buffeting” to praise and blame; “growing strong” to rise and decline; “being borne and overturned” to safety and danger. The affairs of the world are ever changing, and the people must not be treated lightly. Therefore, the sage knows that danger may lie hidden within stability and removes what is excessive; knows that decline may follow prosperity and does not pursue luxury; and knows that praise may bring blame, so does not become overly self-satisfied.

The Dao De Jing says: “One who assists a ruler through the Dao does not use military force to dominate the realm.” Military campaigns often invite retribution. Thorns grow where armies have been stationed, and famine often follows a great war. Therefore, one skilled in warfare stops once the objective is achieved and does not use the victory to assert dominance. Having won, he does not boast, claim credit, or grow arrogant. He acts only when there is no alternative. This is achieving victory without asserting dominance. When things become excessively strong, they begin to age; this is called being out of accord with the Dao. Whatever is out of accord with the Dao soon perishes.

A ruler possesses all under Heaven because he possesses the land. Only by possessing the land can he have the altars of the soil and grain, which stand for the state; and only with the state can there be a people. The state and its people are the most precious foundations under Heaven. The previous chapter used these principles to urge rulers to follow the Dao. This chapter goes further, warning ministers not to take up arms lightly. Ah, Laozi’s concern reaches far! He did not even make all under Heaven his ambition, and for that very reason he became a model for generations.

The Way of Heaven cherishes life and abhors killing. It diminishes what is full and benefits what is humble. It values compassion and gentleness, and does not esteem force and arrogance. Gentleness allows things to grow; force leads to decline. This is an inevitable principle. Thus, a noble person acts only when there is no other choice. Ministers who assist a ruler should use the Dao to protect the people and bring stability to the state. Only after that, and only when compelled, should they resort to arms. They must not rely on military force to impose their might on all under Heaven, or the state will be overturned and the people harmed. Besides, no war is certain to end in victory. War often invites retaliation, and defeat may follow. How could this not serve as a warning?

If a minister cannot use the Dao to assist the ruler, but instead acts recklessly and shows no concern for the people, becoming obsessed with war and hungry for military glory, then plotting campaigns at home and seizing land will bring suffering to the people. Unable to endure it, they will flee if they do not die in the fighting. This is the harm that comes from relying on military strength, and it is precisely what happens under Heaven. Wherever armies are stationed, farming falls into neglect and thorny weeds take root. When troops march a hundred li, the land suffers for a hundred li; when they march a thousand li, the land suffers for a thousand li. Once a great army is mobilized, there is no need to wait for floods or droughts: the harvest that year will already be poor. How could this be the conduct of a minister skilled in assisting the ruler? A skilled commander seeks only to achieve what is necessary and does not dare to flaunt military might. For this reason, one must carefully judge whether the goal is worth pursuing.

When Confucius was asked by Duke Ling of Wei about military formations, he spoke instead of ritual and ceremonial vessels, showing that he did not wish to discuss warfare. When Zigong asked him about governing, he explained that the military could be dispensed with. Ah, how could Confucius’s concern for the world have differed from Laozi’s?

When a task is accomplished, do not boast, show off, or become proud. To say that success comes only when there is no other choice means acting in accord with the principles of Heaven. As explained earlier, one knows the action is compelled and that only by taking it can one act rightly. This is how something can be accomplished without flaunting one’s strength. When things reach their height, they grow old and decline. If a minister holds high office but does not know how to yield, and makes wielding military power his chief concern, he will meet danger when he reaches the extreme. This is what it means not to understand the Dao. To go against the Dao is to move swiftly toward ruin. And one may even suffer the fate of “hiding the bow and cooking the hound”—being killed once one’s service is no longer needed—which only hastens one’s own destruction. How could such a person hope to assist the ruler, govern the state, and bring peace to all under Heaven? Those who read these words should take them as a warning.

The Dao De Jing says: Even the finest weapons are ill-omened things, hated by all. A person who follows the Dao does not use them in daily life. How, then, could one expect such a person to assist a ruler, govern a state, and bring peace to all under Heaven? Those who hear these words have ample reason to take warning.

The Dao De Jing also says: Even the finest weapons are ill-omened things, hated by all, so a person who follows the Dao does not keep them as everyday possessions. In ordinary life, a gentleman honors the left; in warfare, he honors the right. Weapons are ill-omened things, not instruments a gentleman prizes; they are used only when there is no other choice. Calm detachment—peaceful and free from attachment, without delight in winning—should be regarded as best. Even when victorious, one should not treat victory as something worthy of praise. To call victory a fine thing is to take pleasure in killing. Those who take pleasure in killing cannot fulfill their aims in the world.

For celebrations, the left is honored; for inauspicious matters such as funerals, the right is honored. The deputy general stands on the left, while the supreme general stands on the right: military ceremony is thus arranged according to funeral rites. When many people have been killed, one should grieve and mourn. Even after winning a battle, one should respond with the solemnity of a funeral.

The Original Meaning says: Bows and arrows were once weapons that commanded awe throughout the realm, and their history reaches back a long way. Yet since ancient times, many people have seized bows and arrows and used them to defy the Son of Heaven. This shows how carefully the use of arms must be approached.

Weapons are tools for killing. To praise a weapon as excellent may suggest that someone takes pleasure in killing. Weapons are inauspicious things, instruments of violence. Earlier, weapons were called “sacred instruments”; here they are called “instruments of ill omen.” At times they are described in terms of their wondrous aspect, and at times in terms of their danger; in either case, they can inspire aversion. How can someone who possesses the realm allow the people to feel aversion? Thus, a person who has the Dao does not make weapons part of ordinary life. This passage carries forward the meaning of the previous chapter and warns ministers against delighting in warfare.

In times of peace, a gentleman serves at court, where ritual convention gives precedence to the left. When war breaks out and arms must be taken up, precedence is given to the right. Weapons are inauspicious things, not what a gentleman takes pleasure in using. They should be used only when there is no alternative, and then with calm restraint as the highest priority. Calm restraint means that when a king takes up arms, his purpose is to pacify the people. He does not plunder or deceive, nor does he harbor deceitful intentions. For this reason, even when victorious, he does not treat victory as something to boast about. To take pride in victory is to delight in killing. Someone who delights in killing cannot fulfill his ambitions in the realm.

Ziyu of Chu at the Battle of Chengpu and Xian Hu of Jin at the Battle of Bi both relished using arms and sought victory through war; in the end, neither fulfilled his ambitions. Mencius said to King Xiang of Liang, “Only one who does not delight in killing can unify the realm.” He also said that there is no one in the realm who will not submit to a benevolent ruler. How could someone delight in killing and still achieve his aims throughout the realm?

According to ritual convention, the left is the honored position and the right is lower in rank. Auspicious occasions favor the left because they are cause for joy; inauspicious occasions favor the right because they are cause for grief. The deputy general holds a lower rank and does not wield sole authority over life and death, so he is placed on the honored left. The senior general holds a higher rank and commands the power to kill, so he is placed on the lower right. This is precisely to show that inauspicious affairs must not be held in honor.

Alas, once generals receive their orders and set out on campaign, there are times in the army when they need not obey the ruler’s commands. What feelings should the ruler have at such a moment? It is truly cause for apprehension. Placing the deputy general on the left also shows a wary regard for danger; placing the senior general on the right expresses that warfare is inauspicious. Treating war according to the rites for mourning makes clear that it belongs among inauspicious affairs.

When many people have been killed, one should grieve and weep. Even after winning a battle, one should observe the rites of mourning. Could anyone do this without a heavy heart? Only when another state invades or disorder breaks out at home, and there is truly no alternative, may arms be taken up. If these conditions do not apply, war must not be launched lightly. The ancient kings had a benevolent heart that could not bear to harm others; that is why they practiced humane government that could not bear to harm the people.

The Dao (the Way) brings people grief and tears. Even victory in war should be treated according to the rites of mourning. Can one really bear to do such a thing? Unless another state has invaded and disorder has broken out at home, leaving no choice but to use force, war should not be waged. The former kings had the humane heart that could not bear to harm others, and so they put into practice humane government that could not bear to harm the people.

The Dao says: The Dao never has a fixed name. It is plain and simple, like an uncarved block of wood. Though it may seem small, nothing under Heaven dares make it a subject. If the lords and kings can hold fast to it, all things will naturally submit. When the Yin-Yang energies of Heaven and Earth come together, sweet dew descends. No one issues a command, yet it naturally settles into harmony and balance. Once things begin to be distinguished and named, names are established; then one must know when to stop. Knowing when to stop keeps one from falling into danger. The Dao in the world is like streams and valleys flowing into rivers and seas.

The Original Meaning says: The Dao never has a fixed name; because it is nameless, it is revered. The uncarved substance has no shape; because it is formless, it is vast. Though revered and vast, it does not place itself in a position of reverence or greatness. Thus it seems small, yet nothing under Heaven dares make it a subject. If the lords and kings can understand that the Dao is nameless yet revered, formless yet vast, and hold fast to it without losing it, they need not repeatedly issue commands to all under Heaven. The myriad people and all things will naturally submit.

This is because the lords and kings in relation to the people, and Heaven and Earth in relation to all things, respond to one another according to the same principle. Look at how the Yin-Yang energies between Heaven and Earth intertwine and unite, bringing down sweet dew: this is simply the result of Yin-Yang in harmony. No one issues a command, yet all things naturally come into balance. Understand that when things first divide the numinous energy and disperse the primal energy, they draw on these to begin growing and multiplying. This has never required people to exert even the slightest effort.

All things are born from the Dao and at first have no names. Only later do distinctions and names begin to arise. Each thing has its own name and its own principle. When achievements are complete and affairs are settled, one should know when to stop and understand that after success one must withdraw. In ancient times, some understood this principle and, upon rising to the highest position, became emperors. Those who do not understand the Dao or act in accordance with it soon decline. How much more so for those who, after succeeding, meet the fate of “hiding the bow and boiling the dog”—a metaphor for rulers killing their meritorious servants once they are no longer useful. Such an outcome only hastens their own downfall. How could such people be expected to assist their ruler, govern the state, and bring peace to all under Heaven? Those who hear these principles should take them as a warning.

The Dao De Jing says: Fine weapons are instruments of ill omen, and people generally detest them. For this reason, a person who follows the Dao does not rely on them in daily life. In ordinary circumstances, a gentleman gives precedence to the left; when directing troops, he gives precedence to the right. Weapons are ill-omened instruments, not things a gentleman likes to use. They should be used only when there is no other choice. In war, one should remain calm and detached. Even victory is not something to boast about. To take pride in victory is to delight in killing; someone who delights in killing cannot fulfill their aims under Heaven.

For auspicious occasions, the left is given precedence; for funerals and other inauspicious occasions, the right is. The deputy general stands on the left, while the supreme general stands on the right: this arranges the conduct of war according to the rites for mourning. When many people have been killed, one should meet the event with grief and lamentation. Even after winning a battle, one should treat it according to the rites for mourning.

The Commentary on the Original Meaning says: “The bow and arrow, weapons used to intimidate the world, have a long history. Yet since ancient times, there have been many who stole bows and arrows to threaten the Son of Heaven. How, then, could the use of arms be anything but a matter for great caution?”

Weapons are tools for killing. To call weapons good must mean that someone takes pleasure in killing. Weapons are inauspicious things—implements of ill omen. Earlier they were called “sacred instruments”; here they are called “implements of ill omen.” Calling them sacred at one moment and dangerous the next shows that people may well despise them. How can those who govern the world allow the people to feel such aversion? Thus, people who possess the Dao do not treat weapons as ordinary tools. This passage carries forward the meaning of the previous chapter, warning ministers against taking pleasure in the use of arms.

When the world is at peace, the gentleman occupies the higher position, and in ritual the left is honored. When there is warfare and arms must be used, the right is honored instead. Weapons are inauspicious things, and no gentleman delights in using them. They are used only when there is no alternative, and then calm restraint should be the guiding principle. The “calm restraint” spoken of here means that the ruler’s army aims to pacify the people: it does not count captives or killings as achievements, nor does it harbor deceitful intentions. Thus, even after victory, it does not treat success as something to boast about. To celebrate victory in war is to take pleasure in killing. Those who delight in killing cannot realize their aims in the world.

Ziyu of Chu advocated the use of arms and delighted in battle at Chengpu; Xiangu of Jin did the same at Bi. In the end, neither achieved his aims. Mencius told King Xiang of Liang, “One who does not delight in killing can unify the world.” He also said that no one in the world would fail to submit to such a person. If so, how could anyone who takes pleasure in killing gain the world?

The left is the honored position; the right is the lowly one. Auspicious occasions favor the left, because they bring joy. Funerals and other inauspicious occasions favor the right, because they bring grief. The deputy general’s position is lower, and he does not hold sole authority over killing, so he is placed on the left as a mark of respect. The senior general stands higher and holds the army’s authority to kill, so he is placed on the right, lowering his status. This is precisely to show that inauspicious matters should not be honored.

Alas, once an army has received its orders and set out, its commander is in the field and may at times refuse the ruler’s command. What state of mind should the ruler have then? It is truly a cause for concern. For this reason, the deputy general is placed on the left, showing vigilance in the face of danger; the senior general is placed on the right, showing that the use of arms is inauspicious. Treating war according to the rites of mourning makes clear that war is a matter of ill omen. Even after a victory, if many people have been killed, one should observe funeral rites and grieve with tears. Who could bear to set out to do this willingly? Unless another state invades and peace within the borders is disturbed, one should not lightly raise an army. The Former Kings possessed a humane heart that could not bear to harm others, and so they put into practice a humane government that could not bear to harm the people.

The Dao De Jing says: The Great Dao never has a fixed name. It is plain and subtle, seemingly small, yet no one under heaven dares treat it as a subordinate. If rulers can hold to the Dao, all things will naturally come to them. When the Qi of Heaven and Earth mingle, sweet dew descends; all this harmonizes naturally, without any command from Heaven.

As the myriad things begin to separate into categories, names arise. Once names have appeared, one should know when to stop. Knowing when to stop keeps one from danger. If rulers can hold to the Dao, all things will naturally come to them. When the Qi of Heaven and Earth mingle, sweet dew descends on its own; without any command from Heaven, all things harmonize by themselves.

The Dao’s role in the world is like that of rivers and seas, which receive the many streams and valleys.

The Original Meaning says: “The Dao never has a fixed name; it is precisely because it is nameless that it is esteemed. The uncarved block—its original state, untouched by carving or human contrivance—has no form; it is precisely because it is formless that it is vast. Although the Dao is esteemed and vast, it does not claim esteem or vastness for itself. Thus it may seem small, yet no one under Heaven dares treat it as a subject.”

If a ruler can understand the Dao’s nature—nameless yet esteemed, formless yet vast—and hold fast to it without losing its root, there is no need to wait for decrees to be issued throughout the realm: the people and all things will naturally come into accord. Between rulers and people, and between Heaven and Earth and all things, one side responds when the other calls; the same principle governs them all. Consider how Yin-Yang Qi (vital energy) blends and harmonizes between Heaven and Earth, bringing down sweet dew. This is all brought about by the Qi of balance and harmony. No one commands the myriad things, yet each naturally finds its proper course. From this we can see that when the myriad things first received their share of spiritual Qi and inherited primordial Qi, beginning to grow and sustain life, they never relied on human effort.

The Dao was originally nameless; only later did names begin to be established. Each thing has its own underlying principle. Once names have been established and accomplishments achieved, one should know when to stop and take a place behind. This is the principle of withdrawing once one’s work is done.

Among the ancients, some understood this principle: they became emperors when they occupied the highest position, and kings when they occupied a lower one. Fuxi and King Wen are examples. Fuxi understood this Dao and became an emperor, creating the six-line pre-Heaven trigrams: Qian in the south and Kun in the north, with Heaven and Earth each in its proper place. Thus distinctions began to be established, and the imperial way arose. Later, King Wen understood this Dao and became a king. The royal way reached its height, and distinctions had already been established. He therefore created the eight post-Heaven trigrams, with Qian taking its place in the northwest and Kun in the southwest. This shows that the Way of Heaven, too, knows when to stop. Knowing when to stop allows one to avoid danger; when one yields at the proper time, what danger could there be? Here we can see the bearing of emperors and kings.

The sage gathers together the principles of Heaven and Earth, clarifies the original meaning of the uncarved Dao, and explains it to rulers again and again through analogies and indirect instruction. One could say that the matter has been fully explained. Still concerned that readers in later generations might not understand his intent, he uses familiar things close at hand to make it clear: “The Dao in the world is like the relationship between streams and rivers and seas.” This saying appears in the earlier chapter, “Knowing the masculine, if one would take the world.”

The Dao De Jing says: “One who understands others may be called wise; one who understands himself truly understands. To overcome others is merely to have strength; to overcome oneself is to be strong. One who knows contentment is wealthy; one who perseveres in what he does has resolve. Only by not losing one’s roots can one endure. Only when the spirit does not perish after the body dies can one be called long-lived.”

The Original Meaning says: “Life and death are both great matters. If we inquire into their underlying principle, a person appears as a human being while alive, then withdraws from sight after death and becomes a ghost or spirit. When appearing again, one is once more human. This transformation is the same in every age, and does not differ between the wise and the foolish.

“People’s circumstances in life may go smoothly or turn against them; gains and losses rise and fall, and their emotions change with events. As they deal with one another and drift with the times, they resemble the workings of Nature: sometimes bright, sometimes dark, now flourishing, now bleak, never constant. Many changes may occur in a single day. Without the Dao as a guide for navigating life, how could one avoid falling into difficulty in moments of crisis and haste? That is why one must first understand oneself and others, so as to respond well to the affairs of the world and interact properly with people. This is the way to conduct oneself, and also the way to understand life and death.

“To ‘understand others’ does not mean knowing one another’s neighbors and relatives, or knowing one another’s achievements and careers. It means understanding people’s hearts. If you understand what others have in mind, you will not demand perfection in your dealings with them; this may be called wisdom. If you understand your own heart, you will not overstep at will; this may be called true understanding.

“‘To overcome others is to have strength’ because human desires are powerful. ‘To overcome oneself is to be strong’ because the principles of Heaven—the standards aligned with Nature and moral rightness—are clear. ‘To know contentment is to be wealthy’ because one is inwardly fulfilled. ‘To persevere is to have resolve’ because body and mind are firm and vigorous, able to sustain their practice. ‘Not losing one’s place is to endure’ because one holds to the Middle Way, without partiality and with proper measure. ‘To die without perishing is to be long-lived’ because one preserves one’s innate nature and returns to Nature.

“Whether serving in office or withdrawing from public life, a person should rest in the constant Dao; the length of one’s life should follow the workings of Nature. If one cultivates De (Virtue/Power) that endures and accomplishes work whose influence can spread, one can use them to benefit the world for a long time. When appearing, one is human; when withdrawn from sight, one becomes a ghost or spirit. It may seem that one has disappeared, yet one still exists. Though no form appears, the spirit remains. This is what truly does not perish.”

The Daodejing says: The Great Dao flows far and wide, present everywhere and expressed on every side. All things depend on the Dao to come into being, yet the Dao never turns them away. Once things have come to completion, the Dao does not claim their achievements as its own. It nourishes all things but does not rule over them. It is usually free of any desire to possess or control, and so may be called humble and subtle. All things return to the Dao, yet it does not claim to rule them; in this sense, it may also be called great. Thus the sage never considers himself great, and in doing so accomplishes greatness.

The Yuanzhi explains: The sage cares for and nurtures the people, but does not use his achievements to exalt himself, because he takes the Dao as his model. The people bear his weight without feeling burdened; they willingly raise him up and do not remain silent. Although the sage does not wish to appear great, he cannot avoid winning the people’s support.

The Great Dao flows far and wide, present everywhere and expressed on every side. All things depend on the Dao to come into being, and the Dao never turns them away. They are thereby able to grow, yet the Dao does not ask them for gratitude. All things accomplish what they are meant to accomplish, but the Dao does not claim their achievements as its own. The Dao gives life to and nurtures all things, caring for them without ruling over them. It lets them grow naturally; in this way, its care for them reaches its fullest expression. The Dao is usually free of any desire to possess or control: its humility and deference may be said to have reached their utmost. All things return to the Dao, yet it still does not rule them; this is greatness. It has no intention of making all things submit to it, yet they naturally return to it. It has no wish to appear great, yet all things make it seem great. This is the working of the Dao.

Therefore, the sage takes emulating the Dao as his guiding principle and cares for and nurtures the people. Even when his achievements and De are immense, he never considers himself great. Thus the people return to him, and he naturally accomplishes greatness.

After reading this chapter, the author leaned against a table and reflected in silence, letting the mind and spirit wander into antiquity. It was as though he could see the people of the age of the Sage Sovereign Xi, Fuxi, living simply, with branches and wild deer alike revealing a scene of natural ease. That unadorned, gentle way of life seems to endure even today.

The Dao Jing says: “Grasp the image of the Great Dao, and all under Heaven will turn toward you. When people turn toward you without being harmed, they can live in stability, peace, and harmony. Music and fine food can make passing guests stop; but when the Dao is spoken aloud, it is bland and tasteless. Look for it and you cannot see it; listen for it and you cannot hear it; yet its use is inexhaustible.”

Du Daojian explains: The Great Dao is vast and boundless. The sage models himself on it and holds fast to it in governing all under Heaven. He cherishes and nurtures the peoples of the four directions, including those in distant lands, and brings all things into balance; therefore, all under Heaven comes to him. When people return without being harmed, the sage gives them a place to settle. Once settled, they can live in peace; once at peace, they can flourish in harmony. The ancient ruler who put this principle into practice was the Yellow Emperor. He observed the way of Heaven and followed the patterns of its movement. Thus, even with his robes hanging loose and his hands folded, he could bring order to all under Heaven.

What, then, is involved in governing all under Heaven? Music and food can make passersby stop, just as weapons are used against rebels and bandits to halt their actions. When guests arrive, one plays music and serves a banquet to welcome them; once they have passed by, one does not try to detain them. When Chiyou rebelled, he had to be subdued, so weapons were used. After the Flame Emperor submitted, he should be pardoned, and military action could cease. War must not become the norm, and order cannot be maintained by relying on ritual and music at all times. Drinking may begin with restraint, but prolonged drinking often leads to disorder. When peace under Heaven reaches its height, excessive and elaborate pleasures may arise; the same is true of other affairs. What begins in sincerity and simplicity may, over time, become shallow and vulgar. What begins simply may eventually grow vast and complicated. How, then, could one fail to remain vigilant about war?

The “Dao,” though it can be spoken aloud, is bland and tasteless; unlike music and fine food, it does not entice. It is more like the “Great Image,” the complete image of the Great Dao. The Great Image has no concrete form, so it cannot be seen; it has no sound, so it cannot be heard. When the sage models himself on the Great Dao and puts it to use, its subtle workings are inexhaustible.

The Dao Jing also says: “If you wish to contract something, you must first let it expand; if you wish to weaken it, you must first let it grow strong; if you wish to abolish it, you must first let it rise; if you wish to take something from it, you must first give to it.” This is called the subtle yet illuminating principle. The soft and yielding can overcome the hard and strong. Fish cannot leave the deep pool; likewise, a state’s vital instruments—the key means of governance and power—must not be displayed lightly.

Day and night alternate, sometimes bright and sometimes dark. All things and human affairs have their periods of flourishing and decline. From ancient times to the present, change has never ceased. This is because a vast power of transformation—the natural force that brings all things into being and changes them—moves between Heaven and Earth, and nothing can escape its influence. When spring arrives, the weather must grow warm; when winter arrives, it must grow cold. Autumn turns cool, summer turns hot, and the four seasons take their turns without fail. This is the pattern of nature. Transformation itself has no deliberate intention. Thus, the alternation of cold and heat brings the year through its course.

If something is to be drawn in, it must first be allowed to expand; this is the pattern of opening and closing. If something is to be weakened, it must first be allowed to grow strong; this is the pattern of increase and decrease. If something is to be discarded, it must first be allowed to rise; this is the pattern by which obstruction and flourishing turn into one another. If something is to be taken, it must first be given; this is the pattern of growth and extinction. These are subtle yet understandable principles within the vast process of transformation.

Thus, the yielding and weak can overcome the firm and strong. The yielding and weak belong to the state of Qi (vital energy); when things change, they can flow freely. The firm and strong belong to the state of form; when things reach their peak, they move toward decline. Those who understand how change leads to free passage are not bound by the cycle of strength and decline. Whether they can prevail depends on whether they choose to do so.

Fish cannot leave deep water. Here, “fish” refers to the people, “the deep” to the state, and “water” to the resources that sustain livelihoods—in other words, wealth and grain. With water in the depths, fish can live in safety; when a state has ample wealth and grain, its people can be at peace. When water is stored in the deep, fish do not leave; when wealth and grain are stored throughout the realm, the people do not scatter. Can a ruler who governs a state really flaunt the practice of amassing wealth before the people?

Understand the workings of vast transformation, and recognize that abundance and scarcity, increase and decrease each follow their proper patterns. Then you will know that resources have their natural places of accumulation. A ruler need not harbor schemes to calculate and extract wealth at every turn. What is more, resources available to the state are spread throughout the realm, like water that recedes in winter and fills in spring. They will not remain scarce forever, so what is there to worry about?

The Dao De Jing says: The Dao always follows what is natural and does not act rashly, yet there is nothing it does not bring to completion. If the rulers and lords can hold to this principle, all things will transform of themselves. After they have transformed, should anyone again give rise to a desire for reckless action, I will settle them with the “nameless, uncarved simplicity”—the unworked, naturally simple state. This natural simplicity will also keep people from making excessive demands. Without such demands, people’s hearts can become calm, and the world will naturally return to the right way.

Du Daojian explains that the Dao has its constant principles: what ought to be done and what ought not to be done. Do only what ought to be done, and leave undone what ought not to be done. Then spring will follow the order of spring, and summer the order of summer; Yin-Yang will move without error. There will be no need to issue commands: the four seasons will run their course of themselves, and all things will grow. But if the constant way is violated, abnormal Qi will arise, the seasons will fall out of balance, and all things will be harmed.

Governing a state is the same. If rulers and lords can understand and abide by the Dao, doing only what befits a ruler and leaving undone what does not, ruler and minister will each keep to their proper roles, and duties will not be confused. Even without issuing many commands, officials will each remain in their place, and all things will be nurtured and transformed of themselves. The state and its people can each attend to their own duties, doing what falls within their proper bounds and not overstepping them. If the ruler’s De is deficient, abnormal policies will arise. When the ruler fulfills the ruler’s duties and the minister fulfills the minister’s, when those above do not oppress those below and those below do not presume to surpass those above, how could people in the world abandon their proper roles and refuse to follow instruction?

“After things have been transformed, desires arise” means that things have already been transformed, yet the thought of undertaking something else and acting recklessly arises again. The ruler should consider why people have come to think this way; there must be some cause that has provoked it. Rather than wait until they actually act recklessly before responding, the ruler should quickly examine what they have done improperly, correct their mistakes, and settle the situation calmly and peacefully. Then people’s thoughts will fade. Without waiting for offenses to become evident and punishment to follow, they will change of their own accord and dare not act recklessly again. This is what it means to “settle them with nameless, uncarved simplicity.”

“Nameless, uncarved simplicity will also bring an end to desire” means that those above should lead people to respect their De and fear their authority, while also setting aside elaborate talk, remaining calm, and not disturbing the people with excessive interference. When people have no excessive desires, their hearts become calm, and the world naturally returns to what is right.

The Dao’s “non-action, yet nothing is left undone” refers to this. If Wuwei were understood as being rigidly motionless like wood or stone, how could it possibly bring all things to completion? Du Daojian holds that this is not the meaning of Wuwei.

End of Volume Two of the Original Meaning of the Mysterious Classic of the Dao and De

Volume Three of the Original Meaning of the Mysterious Classic of the Dao and De

Commentary by Du Daojian of Dangtu, an eminent scholar of the teaching

The Classic of the Dao and De says: Those of the highest De (Virtue/Power) do not deliberately display their De, and so truly possess it. Those of lesser De never forget their De; whatever they do, they act with a purpose, and so cannot be said to truly possess it. The highest De follows its natural course, without deliberate effort. Lesser De takes action and acts with a clear purpose. The highest benevolence takes action but seeks nothing in return. The highest righteousness takes action with conscious intent. As for ritual, when it is practiced but receives no response, one rolls up one’s sleeves and forces it upon others.

Thus, only after the Dao (the Way) 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; and only after righteousness is lost do they speak of ritual. Ritual means that loyalty and trust have grown faint, and it is the first sign of disorder. “Foreknowledge” means knowledge displayed in advance: it is the showy expression of the Dao and the beginning of folly. Therefore, the great person takes their stand in what is substantial and does not dwell in what is shallow; they stand in what is real and do not pursue what is showy. They cast off the showy and shallow, and choose the substantial and real.

The Original Meaning says: “Dao” means to follow the Dao; “De” means to gain something. To practice the Dao and thereby gain De is called the highest De. The mind of the highest De rests in the radiance of the Dao. Thus one should cast off the showy and choose the substantial.

The Original Meaning says: “Dao” means putting the Great Dao into practice; “De” means receiving something from it. Practicing the Great Dao and thereby receiving De is called “highest De.” People of highest De have no thought of possessing virtue; people naturally turn to them, so their De is deep and abundant. People of “lower De” never forget that they possess virtue. Since people may not turn to them, they are said to lack true De, and their De is shallow.

Those of highest De act without deliberate intent and without pursuing a particular aim. This is a state second only to the Dao. Those of lower De act deliberately and with a specific purpose, so their state is lower. The highest benevolence does good intentionally but without a specific purpose, and is therefore below De. The highest righteousness acts deliberately and with a specific purpose, and is therefore below benevolence. The highest ritual deliberately promotes ritual, but when others do not respond, it falls below righteousness. When people refuse to respond to ritual, ill will arises. Once ill will takes hold, it is no surprise that someone rolls up their sleeves and tries to impose order by force.

Thus, only after the Dao is lost do people speak of De. When De is lost and moral guidance declines, they speak of righteousness; only after righteousness is lost do they speak of ritual. Ritual means that loyalty and trust have already grown faint; it is also the beginning of disorder. When disorder comes, attempts to impose order by force become even more severe.

“Foreknowledge” refers to acting through clever contrivance and premeditation. A hegemon, harboring deceit, gathers the feudal lords in an alliance under the name of ritual and righteousness in order to win them over. This is merely the outward show of the Dao, not its reality, and it already reveals the beginnings of folly. Since shallow customs have appeared, the great person should take their stand in the deep, simple substance of Dao and De, rather than linger in the shallow, showy world of ritual and deceit. This is what is meant by “letting go of one side and choosing the other.”

Alas, the way of the August Sovereigns declined into the virtue of emperors; imperial virtue declined into the benevolence and righteousness of kings; royal benevolence and righteousness declined into the cunning and force of hegemons; and when cleverness declined further, it became the deceit and disorder of the Warring States. People struggled against one another without end, and the common people could not live in peace. Then the Mysterious Sage and uncrowned king appeared: though he held no throne, his sage virtue shaped the world. He illuminated Dao and De, and distinguished Heaven’s principles from selfish desire. The Spring and Autumn Annals appeared, establishing proper ranks and order. Their formulations differ, but their purpose is the same.

A great person with aspirations for the present age should assist the ruler and benefit the people. Whether serving in office or living in seclusion, they should refine their words and establish trust. The principle lies here.

The Daodejing says: In ancient times, those who attained the fundamental Dao (the Way) brought clarity to Heaven, calm to Earth, numinous power to the spirits, abundance to the valleys, growth to all things, and sovereignty over the world to the lords and kings. If they lost this foundation, Heaven could no longer remain clear and might collapse; Earth could no longer remain calm and might shake; the spirits could no longer remain numinous and might disappear; the valleys could no longer remain full and might run dry; all things could no longer grow and might perish; and the lords and kings could no longer maintain their noble rank and might fall.

Thus, the noble has the lowly as its root, and the high has the humble as its foundation. When lords and kings call themselves “orphaned,” “bereft,” or “unworthy”—all humble self-designations—are they not taking the lowly as their root? Many names and kinds of vehicles ultimately depend on the whole called a “vehicle.” A person should not seek to shine like fine jade, nor stand aloof like a stone. If the lowly is not taken as the foundation, the noble and the high will eventually fall. The scripture states the point again: the noble has the lowly as its root, and the high has the humble as its foundation. When lords and kings call themselves lowly, they are following this principle; however many kinds of vehicles there may be, none can be separated from the whole called a vehicle. A person should not flaunt themselves like fine jade, nor stand aloof like a stone.

The Original Meaning explains: The Dao is present among Heaven and Earth, the spirits, all things, rulers, and ordinary people, and each has its proper measure to observe. Each may be deficient in some respect, but none can be self-satisfied. Heaven has its deficiency in the northwest, and Earth its imperfection in the southeast; because neither seeks completeness or becomes self-satisfied, they endure. The sage has no domain in which he is all-capable, and the Dao he follows is the same. Because he does not claim to be all-capable, he becomes a sage. If lords and kings understand this principle, they cannot help but humbly place themselves below others. How much more, then, should those who are subjects and ordinary people understand the need to remain humble? From the broadest perspective, there are many things one ought not lack; from the narrowest, there are also many things one ought not possess.