《道德真经三解(邓锜)》

In The Most High Lord Lao, “Most” means supreme greatness; “High” means the utmost height; “Old” means the utmost longevity; and “Lord” means the foremost among people. For this reason, Lord Lao is called the “Perfected One of the Four Extremes.”

The upper part of the Zhouyi begins with its third hexagram, and the lower part ends with its fourth, making sixty-four hexagrams in all. The first part of the Daodejing begins with chapter three, and the second part ends with chapter four, making eighty-one chapters. In the Taixuan, three marks the beginning of the square, and nine its endpoint; following the Zhouyi, it develops eighty-one verses. The author holds that these texts accord with one another in their understanding of the Dao and De. The Lord on the River, too, must surely have been no ordinary person.

Laozi cultivated the Dao and nurtured De, concealing his name. He lived for many years in the Zhou dynasty, then set out westward. Yin Xi, the Guardian of the Pass, had deep spiritual roots. He foresaw an unusual sign and knew that a Perfected One was coming, so he watched and waited. When Laozi passed by, travel-worn, Yin Xi recognized him. Believing that the Great Dao was about to disappear from the world, he earnestly asked Laozi to write a book—a request close to a sage’s undertaking. Laozi, too, knew that Yin Xi was no ordinary man, and so explained to him the two parts of the Daodejing: the Great Dao is vast, with nothing beyond it, and subtle, with nothing within it; it is perfectly integrated and without bounds, square and without edges. This is what is meant by “without beginning.”

Since the countless eons through which Heaven and Earth have endured, the Great Dao has been transmitted by sages, from one to another. Sages embody the ways of Heaven, Earth, and humanity, the Three Powers, and can also unite the two poles of Yin and Yang. From this we can see that the meaning of the Daodejing’s five thousand words unfolds freely from the heart-mind of Fuxi, leaving no fixed traces. To interpret it only through the literal wording of its chapters is merely to circle along the paths of thought laid down by the Duke of Zhou and Confucius, clinging to concrete forms. How, then, could one perceive Dao and De?

Thus, the teachings of Zhuangzi and Liezi often excel in exaggeration and eloquence; those of Shen Buhai and Han Fei deal exclusively with penal codes, names, and techniques of rule; and the teachings of the Wang and Xie families build their arguments on abstruse language. None of this is the kind of person-dependent insight into the Great Dao described by the saying, “The benevolent see it as benevolence; the wise see it as wisdom.” Rather, it is the Five Hegemons using empty reputations to pursue real gain. How could people like these understand Laozi’s original intent?

Now, alongside my study of the Zhouyi and the Analects, I am fortunate to have some strength to spare. I therefore respectfully follow the chapters and verses of the Daodejing and offer a separate explanation.

The reason for dividing the work into “Three Interpretations” is that the author wishes to show that Heaven and Earth are vast, yet the creation of all things follows a single principle. This principle comes from the sages and is embodied in “acting through non-action”—following nature without imposing contrivance. Its meaning is profound.

The first interpretation explains the scripture. It makes only slight additions and deletions to the wording and punctuation of the original passages, so readers can first see the basic meaning of each chapter and understand its text as a coherent, natural whole, without flaws.

The second interpretation expounds the Dao. It speaks directly of the great Dao of Heaven and Earth: from the beginning of things to their end, through their cycles of return, their patterns and principles accord with one another.

The third interpretation expounds De. It discusses the union of Qian and Kun, the harmonizing of Water and Fire, the alignment of directions with the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), and Neidan terms such as refining mercury and congealing lead. The movement and stillness involved in cultivation must also accord with the great Dao.

The complete work contains more than fifty thousand characters and is titled Three Interpretations. The fundamental principles of the Daodejing and the Great Changes (Zhouyi) are close. Some of their contents should not be interpreted through personal bias. The principles of sages from earlier and later generations are one and the same.

Laozi’s book takes “the truly constant” as its central theme: the principle that is real and enduring. Commentators often conflate “the truly constant” with Dao and De, failing to distinguish their relative importance and levels. As a result, Confucian scholars have raised all manner of unfounded objections, unable to discern the differences. I now set down “Three Hundred Characters on the Truly Constant,” matching the number of sections in the Yinfujing, and place it after the preface, in the hope that future readers of the Daodejing will not stray too far from the Dao.

Scholars of the Dao in all four quarters, please read this carefully and examine it closely. If you find anything worthwhile in it, I, the author, Deng Qi, ask only that my name be preserved through it; that will be enough.

Written on an autumn day in the second year of the Dade era, the year Wuxu, by Yubin Zi, Deng Qi.

“Three Hundred Characters on the Truly Constant” is the title of the section that follows.

Within True Permanence—the enduring, unchanging reality—permanence is the foundation of truth, and the truth of True Permanence is truth itself. True Permanence exists in the Dao and embraces all things; in De, it becomes the standard that all beings follow; in each being’s allotted life, it determines that being’s share; in nature, it manifests according to each thing; and in principle, it gives order to all things.

True Permanence was already so before Heaven and Earth began, and after they come to an end, it returns to silent stillness. All things turn their backs on Yin and face Yang; from this, the sage apprehends what is enduring. The Great Dao may wear down and appear old, yet it does not seek novelty; from this, the sage apprehends what is real. If one tries to give “the Real” a form, it has no fixed direction and is empty and still. If one tries to name “the Constant,” it has no substance, but dwells within things.

The Dao acts through Wuwei (non-action) in an enduring way, yet nothing remains unaccomplished. Its reality is empty, still, and responsive, yet there is no fixed object to follow. When the sage reaches the ultimate, the sage recognizes the original nature and becomes one with the Dao. Above and below change without end, yet within movement and stillness there are constant principles. The Way of Heaven, the creative force that sets things in motion, benefits all under Heaven with beauty and goodness, yet claims no credit for any benefit. Water nourishes all things with beauty and goodness, yet boasts of no merit. Deliberate action loses what is real; deliberate inaction also goes against the constant Way.

The sun and moon alternate in their courses, and light arises from this; cold and heat take turns, and the year takes shape. Thus, True Permanence has no fixed form or name. The Way of Heaven speaks no words, yet its accomplishments become manifest. The Way of Earth claims no accomplishment, yet receives all things and brings their beginnings and endings to completion. True Permanence, therefore, is not empty and insubstantial.

Emptiness and void encompass one another, and Heaven and Earth have no fixed reality. With neither emptiness nor substance, things return to the Limitless—the state without boundary or limit. The Limitless has no bounds, and True Permanence is therefore still. Its stillness is so profound that there is nothing that can be called stillness; it has no end, so True Permanence is not void. Stillness with no object is the repose of True Permanence.

The repose of True Permanence is so profound that there is nothing that can be called repose. This repose without anything at rest cannot be said to be gained or lost. Thus, True Permanence is neither void nor a repose of nothingness.

The Great Biography of Laozi.

Laozi was a native of Quren Hamlet, Li Township, Ku County, in the state of Chu. His surname was Li, his given name Er, his courtesy name Boyang, and his posthumous title Dan. He once served in the Zhou court as an archivist in charge of the royal library. When Confucius went to the Zhou capital, he intended to ask Laozi about ritual. Laozi said to him, “The people you speak of have long since turned to dust, bones and all; only their words have been handed down. When the time is right, a gentleman takes office; when it is not, he drifts like tumbleweed on the wind. I have heard that a skilled merchant hides precious goods as though he had none, and that a gentleman of deep De (Virtue/Power) appears outwardly dull. Put aside your pride, your many desires, your affected manner, and your excessive ambitions; none of these will do you any good. That is all I can tell you.” The Family Sayings of Confucius, in its chapter “Observing the Zhou,” gives a fuller account.

After Confucius left, he said to his disciples, “Birds—I know they can fly. Fish—I know they can swim. Animals—I know they can run. Running beasts can be caught in nets, swimming fish can be caught with lines, and flying birds can be shot with arrows. As for the dragon, I do not know how to understand it: riding on wind and clouds, it soars into the sky. Today I met Laozi. Perhaps he is like a dragon!”

Laozi cultivated the Dao (the Way) and De, and his learning was devoted to withdrawing from the world and seeking no fame. He lived in the Zhou court for a long time. Seeing that the Zhou dynasty was in decline, he departed. When he reached the border pass, the keeper, Yin Xi, said to him, “You are about to withdraw from the world. Please write a book for me.” Laozi then composed two parts, upper and lower, explaining the meaning of the Dao and De in more than five thousand characters. Afterward he left, and no one knew where he ultimately went.

Some say that Lao Laizi was also from Chu and wrote fifteen works expounding Daoist teachings. He lived at the same time as Confucius. Some say Laozi lived for more than 160 years, others that he lived for more than 200, believing this longevity came from cultivating the Dao. One hundred and twenty-nine years after Confucius died, Dan, the Grand Historian of Zhou, met Duke Xian of Qin and said, “At first Qin and Zhou were united, then they separated. Five hundred years after their separation, they will be united again. Seventy years after that union, a ruler who will claim kingship and hegemony will arise.” Some say Dan was Laozi; others say he was not. People have never been able to settle the matter.

Laozi was a gentleman who withdrew from public life and never took office. His son, Zong, served as a general in Wei and was enfeoffed at Duangan. Zong’s son was named Zhu; Zhu’s son was named Gong; and Gong’s great-great-grandson was named Jia. Jia served as an official under Emperor Wen of Han. Jia’s son, Jie, became tutor to Liu Ang, the Prince of Jiaoxi, and moved to Qi. Among those who study Laozi’s teachings, some reject Confucianism; among those who study Confucianism, some reject Laozi’s teachings. The two traditions differ and cannot be reconciled—is this perhaps what was meant by Li Er?

Li Er advocated Wuwei (non-action), allowing the myriad things to transform of themselves, and using stillness and tranquility to set oneself right. The Left Immortal Lord Ge Xuan said that Laozi manifested himself again during the Zhou dynasty: his mother, Li, gave birth to him through her left armpit, and he was born with white hair, which earned him the title “Taishang” (“Supreme One”). He manifested through the mysterious Dao, appearing before Heaven and Earth took form. Since he had no period of decline or old age, he was called “Taishang”—that is, an emanation of the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing).

The Daoist Xuan lineage, whose teachings center on stillness, emptiness, and the methods of Orthodox Unity (Zhengyi), takes immortality as its ideal. Thus, the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning, Fuli Yuan Shi (one of the highest deities revered in Daoism), endured countless eons before attaining the realm of the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing). Countless millions of years later, he manifested in the world as Laozi and instructed the perfected adept Yin Xi. The Dao lineage was then passed to the immortal minister Li Yi and continued through ten generations, spanning roughly from the Zhou dynasty to the Han dynasty.

After that, the Elder of the River appeared. Beginning with An Qisheng, the lineage passed through nine generations; by the time it reached the Perfected Adept of the Three Yangs, five dynasties had passed. Since the Perfected Adept of the Three Yangs began to proclaim the Dao, the lineage passed to the Perfected Adept Haichan, then to Zhang Ziyang and Wang Chongyang. Zhang Ziyang transmitted it to Cuixuan, Cuixuan to Zixian, Zixian to Cuixu, and Cuixu to Master Haiqiong—a total of nine generations.

Perfected Adept Wang Chongyang passed the teaching on to seven perfected adepts. Many others also communicated inwardly and understood one another without words, or spread the teaching widely and guided people through collateral lines of transmission. Their numbers are impossible to determine. If we speak of the orthodox lineage of the Great Dao, it had reached thirty-five generations by the time of Master Haiqiong.

The sages of high antiquity lived long lives, and the periods in which they guided the world and transmitted the Dao were exceedingly long. By the middle antiquity, the Way of Heaven was no longer kept secret but began to circulate among people, guiding countless individuals. How many years have passed since then cannot now be known. After Master Haiqiong, the Great Dao’s main line passed to Master Helin. He took up the learning left incomplete by the sages of old and established a teaching for later generations. In his leisure, reflecting on how difficult it is to preserve the Dao lineage, he traced its origins and set out its course, then had it printed as a book so it could be passed down.

I, Xiao Tingzhi, was fortunate to be counted among Master Helin’s disciples. I therefore burned incense, bowed twice, and recorded this account with my head to the ground.

Written by the disciple Xiao Tingzhi on the winter solstice of the Gengshen year.

Chronology of the Great Dao (a timeline of the lineage through which the Great Dao was transmitted)

Fuli Yuanshi Tianzun symbolizes the stage in which “the Dao gives birth to Taiji.” After thirty-two thousand four hundred years, the arrival of Yuqing Yuanshi Tianzun symbolizes “the Dao gives birth to one,” and so he is paired with Fuxi of the Celestial Sovereign clan. After another ten thousand eight hundred years, the arrival of Shangqing Lingbao Tianzun symbolizes “one gives birth to two,” and so he is paired with Shennong of the Earth Sovereign clan. After yet another ten thousand eight hundred years, the arrival of Taiqing Daode Tianzun symbolizes “two give birth to three,” and so he is paired with Xuanyuan of the Human Sovereign clan.

Taiqing Daode Tianzun and the Supreme Primordial Lady transmitted the Great Dao of the pre-heavenly realm at the same time. This symbolizes “three give birth to the myriad things,” and so he is paired with Guangchengzi, teacher of the seventy-two masters. After another nineteen hundred years, the High and Exalted Laozi descended into the world; at that time, the Compassionate Venerable One was also born among humankind. The myriad things turn their backs on Yin and face Yang; Yin and Yang divide, and the Two Forms—the two fundamental forces of Yin and Yang—are established. Thus Confucius is paired with the great sage among the teachers of the seventy-two worthies. The Qi of Yin and Yang intermingles to form harmony, encompassing the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity, each of which is itself divided into Yin and Yang.

The Three Teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism stand together in the world, and the Way of kings and nobles is thereby complete. Hence it is said: “Some things seem diminished, yet gain in the end; others seem increased, yet lose in the end. What others teach people, I teach as well. Those who are forceful and violent do not meet a good end; I will take this as the foundation of my teaching.” The calendrical sequence of the Great Dao’s unfolding seems to fit together like tally halves. The orthodox lineage and its source are known to those who understand.

Written by the Perfected of Qingcheng.

Three Explanations of the True Scripture of the Dao and Its De, Volume One

Written by Yubin Zi, Deng Qi

Chapter One: On “The Dao that can be spoken…”

A “Dao” that can be put into words is not the constant Dao. A “name” that can be clearly defined is not the constant name. The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth; the named is the foundation from which the myriad things come into being and are distinguished. To remain in the state of “nonbeing” is to apprehend the subtlety of the Dao; to remain in the state of “being” is to observe the bounds and scope that appear in the myriad things. “Subtlety” refers to the constant aspect of the nameless Dao; “bounds” refers to the boundaries revealed by the named Dao. These two come from the same source but bear different names. Both may be called profound and mysterious. Within the profound lies yet more profundity: the gateway to the many subtle principles of the Dao.

The scripture says: freedom from thought and action is the constant Dao; spiritual subtlety and singularity are the constant name. The Dao is the empty, formless aspect of Taiji (the fundamental state before the myriad things come into being). What kind of Dao is not contained in Taiji’s inner emptiness? Yet the Dao is dispersed throughout each thing, becoming the Dao particular to that thing. How could the Dao of a single thing express the whole Dao? Since it cannot, people force a name upon it and offer an explanation; such a name and explanation are therefore not the constant Dao.

What name could not describe the grand forms of Heaven and Earth? Yet they appear in individual things, each with its own name. How could the name of a single thing express all names? Since it cannot, people force a name upon it; that name is therefore not the constant name. Before Heaven and Earth came into being, there was no beginning—so how could there be a name? Once the myriad things had taken shape, without a source that brought them forth, how could they have forms?

To apprehend the subtle source of the myriad things, begin with the Dao of constant “nonbeing.” To observe the boundaries revealed by the myriad things, begin with the Dao of constant “being.” These two arise from freedom from thought and action, yet convey different meanings through “spiritual subtlety and singularity”; hence they are called mysterious. Within the profound lies yet more profundity: the gateway to the many subtle principles of the Dao. Those who can proceed from the shallow to the deep, understand its hidden meaning, and grasp its essentials are perhaps only the sages.

“Nonbeing” and “being” both arise from the root of thoughtless non-action. Their principles are the same, though they have different names. They are deep and subtle, and so are called “mysterious.” The mysterious within the mysterious is the gateway to the many subtle principles. Perhaps only a sage can proceed from the shallow to the profound and grasp what lies deep within?

The Hexagram of Mutual Attraction speaks of the attraction between man and woman: before they come together, they remain pure and single-minded, sincerely holding to what is centered and correct. The Dao cannot be fully expressed in words; what truly exists is the enduring Dao. Names, too, cannot fully define things; what truly exists is the enduring name. The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth.

The Hexagram of Constancy speaks of husband and wife living together: man and woman dwell within a household. This is the great way of human relationships, simple and natural like an infant. Once the Dao can be spoken of, it is no longer the enduring Dao; once a name can designate a particular thing, it is no longer the enduring name. The named is the mother of the myriad things.

The Hexagram of Mutual Attraction symbolizes stillness and joy, with the man below and the woman above; it arises through a transformation of the Hexagram of Obstruction. “Ever without being” means seeking to observe the Dao’s subtlety. The Hexagram of Constancy symbolizes humility and action, with the firm and yielding responding to one another; it arises through a transformation of the Hexagram of Peace. “Ever with being” means seeking to observe the Dao’s beginnings. The root that makes Heaven and Earth what they are is the enduring Dao; the root that makes man and woman what they are is the enduring name.

These two return to the same source, though their paths differ; they come from the same source, though their names differ. The conduct of government and the consideration of myriad affairs may vary, yet in the end they too can converge. Thus both are called “mysterious.” The mysterious within the mysterious is the gateway to the many subtle principles. To enter this gateway to all mysteries, one must encounter a perfected person: someone of profound moral cultivation who has penetrated the great Dao.

Chapter Two: All Under Heaven Know(final)

When people throughout the world recognize beauty as beauty, ugliness appears. When everyone recognizes goodness as goodness, what is not good appears. Thus being and nonbeing depend on each other for their arising; difficult and easy are defined in relation to each other; long and short reveal their difference through comparison; high and low reflect each other; tones and sounds harmonize with one another; and what comes before is followed by what comes after.

Therefore, the sage handles affairs through Wuwei (non-action) and guides the myriad things without relying on verbal instruction. When things arise, the sage does not turn them away or claim them as their own. The sage nurtures them without claiming ownership, acts without relying on achievements, and completes tasks without taking credit. Precisely because the sage takes no credit, their accomplishments do not vanish.

The Jing (classic) says: When people throughout the world recognize beauty as beautiful, ugliness comes into being; when they recognize goodness as good, what is not good comes into being. Beauty and ugliness stand in opposition; being and nonbeing depend on each other; difficult and easy bring each other into being; long and short show their difference through comparison; high and low reflect each other; tones and sounds harmonize with one another; and what comes before is followed by what comes after. Therefore, the sage acts through Wuwei and teaches the myriad things without words. As all things grow together, the sage neither claims them nor turns away from their affairs. The sage gives life to and nurtures all things without claiming ownership, acts without relying on their work, and completes tasks without taking credit. Precisely because the sage takes no credit, the world cannot make their De (Virtue/Power) disappear.

The Dao says: Before the myriad things came into being, people did not know that they existed. Once people appeared, they came to know that Heaven and Earth existed; after knowing Heaven and Earth, they came to know the Dao; and after knowing the Dao, they came to understand that there is a constant, unchanging principle. The constant Dao itself has neither beauty nor ugliness. Who, then, could judge it lovable or hateful? Only when the myriad things arise does beauty and ugliness become apparent among them.

Thus, in the world, things are always made beautiful by what is ugly, and good by what is not good. Once people decide what is beautiful and what is good, they also distinguish what is ugly and not good. In this way, beauty and ugliness, good and evil, depend on one another, bring one another forth, and make one another apparent; they also contend with one another. Such relationships come into being.

Therefore, the sage handles affairs through Wuwei (non-action), and the people are naturally transformed. The sage teaches without relying on words, and the people naturally trust and follow. Though the myriad things arise, the sage does not claim them as his own or take credit for them. Heaven and Earth allow the myriad things to grow naturally, yet do not possess them. They proceed of themselves, without depending on the sage, and bring the myriad things to completion without claiming merit. The sage repeatedly holds fast to this refusal to claim credit, and so the people cannot erase the sage’s De (Virtue/Power).

Yin-Yang’s movement and stillness depend on one another, and firmness and gentleness fulfill each other in their functions and forms. These are among the finest things in the world. To understand that beauty arises from the Dao’s natural workings is to grasp what is constant. But when beauty itself becomes an object of pursuit, desire arises. To pursue the Dao as though it, too, were an object of desire is to depart from the Dao and fall into what is bad.

Qian and Kun—the trigrams that symbolize Heaven and Earth in the Yi—join to give rise to Kan and Li, the trigrams that symbolize Water and Fire. When Kan and Li join, they return to Heaven and Earth. Everyone in the world knows that the Dao lies in this joining and transformation. Is this not perfectly good and beautiful? But if we pursue this joining as an object of desire, are we not once again departing from the Dao?

Thus, being and nonbeing give rise to each other, like the sun and moon shining together on Heaven and Earth. Difficulty and ease fulfill each other, like Water and Fire holding each other in check. Long and short reveal each other’s shape, like the moon in its crescent and full forms. High and low depend on each other, like Yin and Yang responding to one another. Notes and sounds harmonize, like Yang singing first and Yin answering. Before and after follow one another, like the correspondences among the numbers two, three, six, and nine.

Therefore, even if the sage wishes to act, what is there to do deliberately? Even if the sage wishes to establish teachings, what must be said? All things grow and change together; what needs special proclamation? So the sage helps all things grow but does not claim them as their own; acts but does not rely on merit to esteem themselves; and completes things without claiming credit. Thus the sage can bring the world’s goodness to fulfillment, yet their achievements do not depart. If the heart clings to “I,” it loses the natural Dao and falls into excessive contrivance. Is this not something bad?

Chapter Three: Do Not Exalt the Worthy

When people do not deliberately exalt the name of the worthy, the people will not contend for fame. When rare and precious goods are not treated as valuable, the people will not steal. When things that stir greed are not displayed, the people’s hearts will not be thrown into confusion. Therefore, in governing the world, the sage keeps the people’s thoughts simple and their food and clothing sufficient, weakens their will to compete and prevail, and strengthens their bodies. The sage continually reduces the people’s cleverness and desires, and ensures that those who think themselves capable dare not act recklessly. Govern according to the principle of Wuwei (non-action), and there will be nothing that cannot be governed well.

The scripture says: If the name of the worthy is not deliberately exalted, why would the people contend for it? If goods are not treated as valuable, why would the people steal them? If things that invite coveting are not displayed, the people’s desires will naturally not disturb them. Continually reduce the people’s cleverness and desires, so that even those skilled in cunning dare not act recklessly. Act according to the principle of Wuwei, and there will be nothing that cannot be governed well.

The scripture says: “If so-called worthy and capable people are not held up for admiration, what would the people have to compete over? If goods are not treated as precious, what would the people have to steal? If things that provoke desire are not displayed, the people will naturally remain orderly. In governing the world, the sage keeps people’s minds calm and empty while ensuring their bodies are well nourished. The sage weakens the impulse to compete and prevail, and strengthens people’s sinews and bodies. By letting things follow their natural course, the sage keeps the people from being driven by clever schemes and greed. Even those who understand such schemes will not dare to act recklessly. The sage acts through Wuwei (non-action), and so nothing under heaven is left ungov­erned.”

Daoists also say: “When the hexagrams of the Yi had not yet taken shape and Heaven and Earth were still in their simple, natural state, governing the world required no forced arrangements. The people lived in peace, gathering plants for food and drinking raw blood; people and all things changed naturally. Later, the Great Accumulation hexagram (Daxu) extolled the worthy and capable, giving rise to the hexagram Nourishment (Yi), which speaks of craving food and drink. The Biting Through hexagram (Shike) gathered wealth, inviting the violent plunderers of the hexagram Delight (Yu) to seize it. Therefore, when things that could stir greed are not put on display, the people’s hearts will not be thrown into confusion.”

In governing the world, the sage treats the hearts of all under heaven as their own, and receives everyone with a calm, empty mind. The sage treats the needs of all under heaven as their own, ensuring that people’s lives are well provided for. The sage holds a high position yet remains humble, and thus wins the people’s deep regard; this is why the impulse to compete and prevail must be weakened. The Yi says that the great person takes action and strives without cease; this is why people’s sinews and bodies must be strengthened. The sage keeps the people from having ways to pursue clever knowledge and greed. Even if a few understand these things, they will not dare to act recklessly. The sage acts through Wuwei, and so nothing under heaven is left ungov­erned.

Here, Great Accumulation (Daxu), Nourishment (Yi), Biting Through (Shike), and Delight (Yu) are names of hexagrams in the Yi Jing. “Gaping to eat” refers to opening the mouth wide to take in food; here it serves as a metaphor for craving food and drink.

Those within whom wisdom and virtue are present do not regard their own wisdom as something noble. Why, then, would the people compete for a reputation for worthiness? Those within whom abundant wealth is present do not regard wealth as precious. Why, then, would the people steal? When no one competes for fame or steals, and nothing is displayed that might stir greed, the people naturally will not fall into disorder.

If people are made aware of these things and encouraged to compete for them, they will vie for a reputation for worthiness without honoring true virtue; they will steal wealth without cherishing it; and they will indulge their desires, stopping at nothing. Virtue will disappear and wealth will be exhausted. How could such a state of affairs last? Therefore, the sage governs the world by using the constant Dao (the Way that endures without change) to quiet people’s hearts, and by drawing on the life-giving principles of Heaven, Earth, the sun, and the moon to make their lives abundant. The sage uses the water of the south and the fire of the north to weaken people’s drive to outdo one another, and the metal of the east and the wood of the west to strengthen their sinews and bones. The people can then follow their nature, free from the demands of clever schemes and from excessive pursuit of desire. Those who are clever and crafty will not dare act recklessly throughout their lives. Governing through deliberate action throws the world into disorder; governing through Wuwei (non-action, following nature without undue interference) brings it to peace.

The Dao is like a deep, empty space. Use it, and it seems never to be exhausted. It is deep and vast, like the source of all things. It draws in its sharpness, resolves turmoil, harmonizes its radiance, and mingles with the dusty world. It is clear and profound, seeming to exist yet remaining beyond grasp. I do not know whose offspring it is; it seems to have existed before the Lord of Heaven.

The scripture says: Use the Dao’s empty depths, and it seems never to be filled. It is vast and deep, like the source of all things. It draws in its sharpness, resolves the disorder of all things, harmonizes its outward radiance, and mingles with the dust. The Dao is clear and profound, seeming to exist. I do not know where those who attain the Dao come from; it seems to have existed before the Lord of Heaven arose from the Zhen position in the east.

The Dao says: Pure Qi rises and becomes Heaven; turbid Qi descends and becomes Earth; the Qi that blends the pure and the turbid stays between them and becomes human beings. Heaven and Earth are workings of the Dao, whose operation seems never to be exhausted. Human beings, in turn, are workings of Heaven and Earth. The Dao is profound and unfathomable, seeming to exist. Those who attain the Dao seem to have existed before the Lord of Heaven arose from the Zhen position in the east.

The Dao says: Clear, light Qi rises to become Heaven; turbid, heavy Qi descends to become Earth. The Qi that blends the clear and turbid dwells between them and gives birth to human beings. Heaven and Earth are expressions of the Dao at work, yet perhaps they do not reach fullness. Human beings, in turn, are the result of Heaven and Earth at work, and perhaps they too do not reach fullness. Once something is full, it is close to declining.

Thus the sage is balanced and discerning, broad and deep, seeming to be the source of all things. He constantly nourishes all things with upright Qi, drawing in his sharpness, resolving confusion, tempering his radiance, and blending with the world’s dust. Deep, still, and clear, he is as though the Dao were always present within him. Before Fuxi, people made use of the Dao’s empty, receptive quality; since Fuxi, people have brought the Dao’s functions into full play. The Taiji diagram is only a circle—where was there ever fullness in it? It is empty, luminous, and clear, the source of all things. Using a compass to define a square is drawing in one’s sharpness; distinguishing Yin and Yang is resolving confusion; putting hardness and softness to alternating use is tempering radiance; and the six lines each taking their place to form a hexagram is dwelling alongside all things. All things change without cease, moving among the positions of the six lines, while the Dao rests deep and still within them. I do not know whose descendant the Dao is. In terms of the hexagram images, it seems to appear in the east, at the place represented by the Zhen trigram: the direction of spring thunder and new growth, where the ruler emerges.

De says: “Receptive” means empty within. When the Dao is at work, perhaps it does not reach fullness; if it becomes too full, it exceeds the proper measure. The Dao is deep and unfathomable, the source of all things. Emptiness contains real efficacy—what could it be, if not the source of all things? What does one rely on to draw in one’s sharpness? What does one rely on to resolve confusion? What does one rely on to temper radiance? What does one rely on to blend with the world’s dust? It is precisely because the Dao is the source of all things that emptiness contains real efficacy. All things, each in their own way, are clear and still, with the Dao residing within them. I do not know whose descendant this receptive, harmonious presence is. If it has an inheritance, then its signs within a single hour appear before the ruler’s emergence.

Chapter Five: “Heaven and Earth Are Not Benevolent”

Heaven and Earth have no partial benevolence: they treat all things as straw dogs, the straw figures used in sacrifice and discarded afterward. The sage, too, shows no partiality, treating the people as such straw dogs. Is not the space between Heaven and Earth like a bellows? Empty within, yet it does not collapse; the more it is worked, the more air it releases. Speaking too much often leads to exhaustion; better to hold fast to inner emptiness and stillness.

The text says: “Heaven and Earth show no special favor to the myriad things. Why, then, do they treat them like straw dogs used in sacrifice? Because all things alike receive the Dao. The sage shows no special favor to the people. Why, then, does he treat them like straw dogs used in sacrifice? Because the people alike receive the nurture of Heaven and Earth.”

The myriad things and the people are like straw dogs used in ritual: they receive no special favor from Heaven and Earth or from the sage. The Dao fills the space between Heaven and Earth, which are like a bellows. Qi moves within it; though the bellows is empty, it does not run dry. The more it is worked, the more Qi continues to pour out. Rather than say too much and repeatedly fall into difficulty, it is better to preserve emptiness and stillness and remain at the center in harmony. Here, “bellows” refers to the bellows itself; “preserving emptiness” and “remaining centered” refer in Daoist cultivation to maintaining stillness and emptiness, without leaning to either side.

The Dao says: At a sacrifice, placing the offerings on white thatch is the utmost expression of care. The thatch itself is light and thin, but using it to hold the offerings makes the act deeply respectful. By carefully observing this practice, one can act without making mistakes.

Heaven and Earth do not favor any of the myriad things, yet from this arise their profound bounty. Thunder rumbles and violent winds rise, and all things begin to stir in response. This shows how Heaven and Earth seem not to extend benevolence, yet in fact bring all things to fruition. The sage tempers severity with generosity and generosity with severity, allowing leniency and force to complement each other so that governance remains balanced. The sage, too, bestows favors without partiality.

The sage treats the people as Heaven and Earth treat the myriad things: ordinarily, they are not subjected to special demands; when they must be called upon, it is done with the utmost care, like the solemn use of offerings at a sacrifice. What could be more respectful than this? The straw dogs used in sacrifice—ritual objects woven from grass—are valued by Heaven and Earth and by the sage. Though the myriad things differ from one another, they cannot take part in Heaven and Earth’s sacrifice as straw dogs do. Though the people differ from one another, they cannot take part in the sage’s work of following the Dao as straw dogs do. Only straw dogs can share with Heaven and Earth and the sage in the work of sacrifice. Do Heaven and Earth and the sage not show benevolence toward the myriad things and the people? The myriad things and the people are used by Heaven and Earth and the sage every day, yet do not know that they are like straw dogs used in sacrifice. Is this hidden benevolence not profound?

Between Heaven and Earth, the Kun (the yielding, receptive nature of Earth) serves as the bellows, and the Qian (the vigorous, creative nature of Heaven) as its pipe and handle. To close the opening is Kun; to open it is Qian. Opening and closing bring about change, while ceaseless movement back and forth is free flow. Thus it is said: empty, yet never exhausted; the more it moves, the more it gives rise to the myriad things.

Therefore, the sage holds to the middle way and does not let words or actions reach exhaustion. When things reach their limit, they change; through change they become free flowing, and through free flow they endure. None of this departs from the middle way the sage holds. Thus it is better to hold to the middle way.

When is Heaven and Earth not benevolent? All things grow by their own nature, and all things die by their own nature. When is the sage not benevolent? The people live long by their own nature, and they die young by their own nature. Life and death, longevity and untimely death, all arise from the things themselves and from the people themselves. How could Heaven and Earth or the sage be lacking in benevolence? On the contrary, if Heaven and Earth or the sage intervened too much, they would harm their own benevolence.

If we understand that the myriad things are like straw dogs used in sacrifice, and that Heaven and Earth are like a bellows, then Heaven and Earth are like a furnace and bellows, circulating through the heavens; they are also like tongs and hammer, forging within Taiji (the fundamental state from which all things arise). The sun and moon bring about increase and decrease, while the stars govern movement and rotation. In this way, iron can be turned into gold, and the ordinary can become sacred. Heaven and Earth cannot predetermine a person’s fate, nor can the sage treat the people as his possessions. Even if we say that Heaven and Earth and the sage are not benevolent, what could that description apply to?

Therefore, emptiness does not run dry; when set in motion, it gives rise to an unending succession of life. There is no need to say too much: excessive words exhaust the principle. It is better to keep to the centeredness within. To keep to the center is to regard Heaven and Earth, past and present, and the myriad things as one with oneself.

Chapter Six: The Valley Spirit Never Dies

The Valley Spirit—the Dao, empty and still like a valley yet responsive to all things—does not perish. This is called the Mysterious Female, the deep maternal power that gives life and nourishment to all things. The gate of the Mysterious Female is the source of Heaven, Earth, and all things. It continues without end, seeming to exist and yet seeming not to exist; in using it, one need not exert deliberate effort.

The scripture says: A hollow valley can produce an echo; this wondrous, undying function is called the Mysterious Female. “Heaven is mysterious; Earth is female” refers to the qualities of Yin and Yang in Heaven and Earth. The gate through which Qian and Kun (Heaven and Earth) interact and transform is the source of Heaven and Earth. The Dao extends without end, giving form to the nature of all things and functioning in an unceasing succession of life; this does not depend on striving deliberately or forcing things through effort.

The explanation of the Dao is this: the Nine in the Third Place of the Sheng hexagram says, “Ascend into an empty city.” Here, Heaven and Earth are compared to an empty valley. Above and below, all is still and void, yet the wondrous Qi within does not perish. The myriad things undergo the changes of growth and storage, arising together; this is called the “Mysterious Female,” the hidden, deep source that gives birth to all things. The Top Six of the Sheng hexagram dwells in darkness and joins with its corresponding line. This favors holding fast to the enduring, unceasing Dao, and is also the “gate of the Mysterious Female.” The movement of Yin and Yang returns to the position of Zi, the Kan hexagram, which symbolizes water and Yin, like a tree sprouting from the earth. This is the root of Heaven and Earth. Thus the Dao continues without end, seeming to exist; use it, and it is never exhausted. When the double-yang chrysanthemum blooms too late, its withering and death are not far off.

The explanation of De is this: the chamber of the Valley Spirit—the wondrous Qi that continually brings forth life in the empty valley—is in the Northern Sea and rules over the domain of water. It has a name but no form, and its transformations are beyond measure. Above, it joins with Heaven’s hidden mystery; below, it accords with Earth’s yielding Yin. The Mysterious and the Female meet in the empty valley, and the Valley Spirit does not perish. The Valley Spirit’s imperishable nature is called the Mysterious Female; the gate of the Mysterious Female is the root of Heaven and Earth.

In cultivation, one should remain concealed and still like a hidden dragon, not readily displaying one’s power. The breath should continue, barely perceptible, as if present and then absent. If one forces its use, it can startle things a hundred miles away. Hence the saying, “Use it without exertion”: in practice, one should neither force it nor go to excess. The Realized Master Ziyang said, “If you want the Valley Spirit to endure and never perish, you must establish your foundation through the Mysterious Female. When true Jing returns, it is like entering a golden house; from then on, a single bright pearl will never scatter.” He also said, “Few in the world know the gate of the Mysterious Female; they take only the mouth and nose as the gateways to cultivation. Even if they practice breathing for a thousand years, how could they make the Golden Crow—the sun—gather in the Jade Rabbit—the moon?” This is what it means to truly understand the Mysterious Female.

Chapter Seven: Heaven and Earth Endure

Heaven and Earth can endure because they do not live only for themselves; that is why they can last. For this reason, the sage puts himself last and thereby comes to the fore; he sets himself aside and thereby preserves himself. Is this not because he has no selfishness? Precisely through being unselfish, he fulfills himself.

The scripture says: Heaven and Earth endure because the Great Dao constantly follows its own nature and does nothing by force. They endure because they do not live for themselves, and so they can last. Thus, the sage puts himself last and thereby comes to the fore; he places himself outside his own concerns and thereby preserves himself. Is it not because he is selfless that he always accepts the place behind others and stays apart from affairs? Precisely because he can come to the fore and preserve himself, he ultimately fulfills himself as well.

The explanation of the Dao says: In the principles of change, there is the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). The Taiji gives rise to the two forms of Yin and Yang; these give rise to the Four Images, which in turn give rise to the Bagua (Eight Trigrams). The Bagua are used to determine good and ill fortune, and from good and ill fortune great undertakings emerge. Heaven and Earth endure because they do not live for themselves, and so they can last. Thus, the sage puts himself last yet comes first because he follows the Great Dao, which enables him to come first. He places himself outside his own concerns yet preserves himself because he follows the Great Dao, which enables him to be preserved. Is this not because he is selfless? The sage places himself within the Dao, and so ultimately fulfills himself as well.

The explanation of De says: Heaven and Earth endure because they do not live for themselves; the sage endures because he does not look after himself alone. If Heaven and Earth cared only for their own survival, they would soon be exhausted; if the sage cared only for himself, he would soon be ruined. Thus, the sage abides in the Dao and ultimately fulfills himself as well.

Another explanation of De says: Heaven and Earth endure because they do not live for themselves; the sage endures because he does not look after himself alone. If Heaven and Earth cared only for their own survival, they would soon be exhausted; if the sage cared only for himself, he would soon be ruined. Thus, the sage first attends to the lives of others and thereby preserves himself; he first helps others find security, and so can place himself outside his own concerns. Is this not selflessness? By putting others first and himself last, he ultimately fulfills himself as well.

Chapter Eight: The Highest Good Is Like Water

The highest good is like water. Water nourishes all things without contending with them. It settles in low places that people dislike, and so is closest to the Dao. Choose a suitable place to live; keep the mind deep and still; be sincere and kind in relationships; keep your word when speaking; govern with order; make the most of your abilities in your work; and act at the right time. Precisely because it does not contend, it is without fault.

The highest goodness is like water. Water is skilled at nourishing all things, yet it does not contend with them. It dwells in low places, in places people dislike, and so it is closest to the Dao (the Way). In making a home, choose a fitting place; let the heart be still and deep like water; in relating to others, be kind; in speech, keep faith; in governing, be effective; in your work, make the most of your abilities; in your actions, seize the right moment. Because it does not contend, it is free of fault.

Daoist explanations say that “Heaven One, Earth Six” is the numerical symbol of water, and that both the Qian and Kan trigrams are associated with water. Qian symbolizes originating power, while Kan symbolizes toil; hence the phrase “highest goodness.” The originating power represented by Qian benefits all under Heaven with what is good and beneficial, yet does not proclaim the benefits it has brought. Thus governance is effective, work is done competently, and action accords with the right moment. By not contending in this way, one naturally remains free of fault.

Another interpretation likewise takes “Heaven One, Earth Six” and the association of Qian and Kan with water as its starting point. Qian symbolizes the beginning of all things, while Kan symbolizes toil; hence the phrase “highest goodness.” The originating power represented by Qian benefits all under Heaven with what is good and beneficial, yet does not boast of its accomplishments. What, then, is there to contend over? Kan symbolizes water, the place where all things are stored and gathered in. It occupies a lowly position that people dislike, and so it is close to the Dao.

“Dwelling in a fitting place” means that one’s home should be suitable. The dangers of Heaven are difficult to climb, while the dangers of Earth take the form of mountains, rivers, and hills. “A heart as deep as water” means that the mind is profound and still, like water that flows without ceasing yet never overflows. “In relating to others, be kind” means that one should uphold what is worthy in one’s dealings; then, wherever one goes, one can accomplish something. “In speech, keep faith” means that even in difficult circumstances, one does not abandon trustworthiness and integrity. “In governance, be effective” means that one’s intentions are clear and one can manage affairs through a firm yet centered and upright approach. “In your work, be capable” means that rulers and lords establish strategic strongholds to defend the state. “In action, seize the right moment” means that action taken in times of danger can have great effect.

Water simply does its work without contending. Even in dangerous circumstances, it does not forsake trustworthiness and integrity. Its governance is effective, its work is competent, and its actions are timely. Because it does not contend, even though it bears the toil symbolized by the Kan trigram, who could blame it? Thus it is free of fault.

The explanation at the level of “De” says that the “Scripture of the White Tiger’s Head,” spoken of by the Perfected Ziyang, as well as the supreme treasure, the Flower Pool, divine water, and true gold, all refer to the precious elements of Daoist cultivation. From this we can see that the principle contained in “the highest goodness benefits all things” is profound, and cannot be compared with ordinary medicines. Though one dwells in a place that everyone despises, one can still draw near to the Dao. Why? Because the Water trigram contains the meaning of return, symbolizing a return to the root and a restoration of one’s original life.

Choose a suitable place to dwell, and first secure a place where you can settle yourself. Keep the mind still as an abyss, and first practice Wuwei (non-action). Draw close to good people, and first choose your friends with care. Speak truthfully, while also knowing the right moment. Govern with order, so that the state is prosperous and the people live in peace. Act with skill, so that the army is strong and victorious in battle. Let your actions accord with the time, as in the Zhouyi’s Zhun and Meng hexagrams, which symbolize the difficulties of beginning and the development of initial understanding. Do not compete for advantage, and you can achieve true strength. Competition brings fault; only by not contending can you avoid blame and resentment.

Chapter Nine: Holding and Filling

Holding a vessel, it is better to stop before it is full. Sharpen a blade too keenly, and it will be hard to keep it for long. When gold and jade fill the hall, no one can keep them safe. Pride and arrogance after attaining wealth and honor bring calamity upon oneself. Once one’s work is accomplished and one’s name established, to withdraw and retire accords with the Way of Heaven.

The Jing (classic) also says: A vessel filled to the brim is better stopped in time; even when gold and jade fill the hall, no one can keep them forever. Sharpening a blade too keenly, and becoming proud and arrogant after gaining wealth and honor, cannot last; in the end, they bring calamity upon oneself. Thus, withdrawing after one’s work is accomplished and one’s name established accords with the Way of Heaven.

The Dao explains further: The Way of Heaven diminishes what is full and adds to what is humble. The way of Earth alters what is full, making it flow toward what is low. Spirits bring misfortune to the self-satisfied and grant blessings to the modest. People, too, dislike self-satisfaction and favor humility. The water of the Water trigram does not overflow; so long as its surface is calm, there is no harm. To pursue fullness without limit goes against the principle embodied in the Water trigram, so it is better to stop at what is enough.

When things show sharp edges on every side, they cannot blend completely with the Dao. Sharpen a blade too keenly, and it will inevitably be damaged; therefore, it cannot last. Gold and jade may fill a hall, but in the end no one can keep them. To hold a vessel and keep filling it, or to grow proud and arrogant after gaining wealth and honor, is to bring calamity upon oneself—just as sharpening a blade too keenly does. Thus, withdrawing once one’s work is accomplished and one’s name established is the Way of Heaven.

Here it says that when a person’s Jing and Qi gather, they form the body; when the hun and po souls wander and disperse, change occurs. From this we can understand the condition of ghosts and spirits, and the principle of keeping body and mind settled and preserving their fullness.

On the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth days, the moon gradually becomes full, facing the sun across the sky. Once a task is accomplished and a reputation established, one should withdraw; this accords with the Way of Heaven. After the moon is full, it begins to wane, so one must know how to preserve what one has. When the proper time has passed, fullness will diminish. At noon the sun begins to decline toward the west; after the full moon comes its waning. Heaven and Earth, too, follow the seasons in waxing and waning, growing and diminishing.

If one seeks to seize the workings of natural transformation, one will not view fullness this way: even when the moon is already full, one may think that a house filled with gold and jade, wealth, and good fortune needs no protection. Why bother to preserve fullness and maintain what has been achieved? It would be enough simply to withdraw into a hidden place. But the Way of Heaven does not work this way. Further, when one occupies an extremely high position, like the “overreaching dragon,” regret will follow; one should therefore restrain one’s sharpness. Thus, one may hold a high position without becoming arrogant. If one becomes arrogant in a high position and so falls into ruin, whose fault is that?

The chapter “Stabilizing the Hun and Po” (Chapter Ten) asks: Can you keep the hun and po at rest, holding fast to unity, without letting them separate? Can you concentrate your Jing and Qi and attain softness, like an infant? Can you cleanse the mind of distracting thoughts and make its inner awareness clear and flawless? Can you care for the people and govern the state by following nature and acting with restraint? Can you keep the Heavenly Gate open and closed—that is, allow the body and mind to connect with the Qi of Heaven and Earth and undergo its comings and goings—while remaining soft and still? Can you understand all that is happening in the four directions without relying on your cleverness or making arbitrary distinctions?

The Dao gives rise to the myriad things, and De nourishes them. The Dao brings forth and nourishes all things without claiming them as its own; it acts without relying on its achievements; it helps all things grow without ruling them. This is called “Mysterious De,” a profound and unobtrusive virtue.

The scripture also says: Can you hold fast to unity, with the sun as the hun and the moon as the po, as Yin and Yang come together, without letting them separate? Can Yang Qi attain softness, like an infant? Can you cleanse the mind of distracting thoughts and make inner awareness flawless? Can you care for the people and govern the state through Wuwei? Can you keep the Heavenly Gate open and closed while remaining soft and still? Can you understand all that is happening in the four directions without relying on your cleverness? The Dao gives rise to all things, and De nourishes them. Thus, to bring forth all things without claiming them as one’s own, to act without relying on one’s achievements, and to help all things grow without ruling them—this is called Mysterious De.

The Dao teaches: The sun and moon move according to their proper courses and meet between Heaven and Earth, Qian and Kun—the fundamental symbols of heaven and earth, and of Yin and Yang. Though they give life to and nurture the myriad things, they do not claim them as their own. Though they act, they do not take pride in their accomplishments. They help the myriad things grow, yet do not rule over them. This is called “Mysterious De” (profound and natural Virtue).

The Dao also teaches: The sun and moon move according to their proper courses and meet between Heaven and Earth, Qian and Kun. Even if one speaks of holding fast to the “One”—the Daoist name for the fundamental Way—can one truly remain with it without ever departing? The sun and moon meet in due measure, and “li” has several meanings here: Li, the trigram symbolizing fire and the sun; “li” as in depending on something without leaving it, when holding fast to primordial Qi and keeping to the One; and “li” as separation, as the sun and moon part ways before meeting again after fifty-nine days. The word “li” carries a wealth of meaning.

The Kan trigram, which symbolizes water and the moon, contains one yang line: this is the pure yang Qi of the Qian trigram, which symbolizes heaven and yang. Thus the moon bears the Qi of the soul that governs its course. The Li trigram contains one yin line: this is the gentle Qi of the Kun trigram, which symbolizes earth and yin. Thus the sun can be eclipsed. Heaven and Earth, Qian and Kun, give rise to Kan and Li; Kan and Li are the principles that govern the sun and moon. Therefore, on the last day of the lunar month the moon tends toward darkness and concealment, while the new moon begins to appear on the first day. Can a person be as simple and natural as an infant?

When things are viewed through the mysterious principle, they are free of flaws from the outset. But if one deliberately cleanses and corrects them, can one be sure they will remain flawless? The people and the state need no deliberate intervention from the outset. But if one insists on caring for and governing them, can one achieve Wuwei (non-action)? The Qian trigram symbolizes Heaven’s Gate, which is originally free of yin softness. But if one deliberately opens and closes the gate, can one avoid letting yin softness in? The principle that reaches in every direction does not depend on discriminating knowledge. But if one deliberately explains and distinguishes it, can one remain without knowledge—that is, free of attachment to distinctions imposed by human thought?

The Way of Heaven brings the myriad things into being, and the De of Earth nurtures them. Thus it is said: It gives life to and nurtures the myriad things without claiming them as its own; it acts without taking pride in its accomplishments; it helps them grow without ruling over them. This is called Mysterious De.

De teaches: When the Qi of Qian and Kun join, they give rise to the Kan trigram. How, then, could there be no yin softness? The principle that reaches in every direction does not depend on discriminating knowledge. But if one deliberately explains and distinguishes it, can one remain without knowledge? The Way of Heaven brings the myriad things into being, and the De of Earth nurtures them. Thus it is said: It gives life to and nurtures the myriad things without claiming them as its own; it acts without taking pride in its accomplishments; it helps them grow without ruling over them. This is called Mysterious De.

De says: When Qian and Kun—the Yin-Yang of Heaven and Earth—join, they produce Kan and Li. When Kan and Li join in turn, they return to the state of Qian and Kun. This is what is meant by “carrying the hun and po souls.” When Kun joins with Qian, the single Yang in the middle of the Kan trigram takes shape: this is embracing the One. When Qian joins with Kun, a single Yin forms in the middle of the Li trigram. Hence the words, “Embrace the One and never depart from it.”

The Kan trigram is Yin on the outside and Yang within. Its underlying nature is Kun, but receiving the single Yang from the middle of the Qian trigram makes it the middle son. The Li trigram is Yang on the outside and Yin within. Its underlying nature is Qian, but receiving the single Yin from the middle of the Kun trigram makes it the middle daughter. The middle son’s undivided focus, meeting the middle daughter’s gentle responsiveness, gives birth to an infant, symbolized by the Fu hexagram. The Gou hexagram symbolizes the principle by which the joining of father and mother gives birth to the myriad things. This is what is meant by “Can you be like an infant?” Ziyang (Zhang Boduan) expressed the same idea when he spoke of “using the full Yang within the Kan trigram to transform the Yin within the Li palace.”

“Cleansing the dark mirror”—clearing away distracting thoughts so the heart-mind becomes lucid—and “opening and closing Heaven’s Gate”—opening and closing Heaven’s Gate as a symbol of Yin-Yang transformation and generation—also describe the infant’s wondrous workings. If you treat these workings as abilities on which you can rely, they instead become a burden to Mysterious De.

Chapter 11: Thirty Spokes

Thirty spokes converge at a single hub. It is precisely because the hub’s center is empty that the wheel is useful. Clay is kneaded and shaped into a vessel; it is precisely because the vessel’s interior is empty that it is useful. Doors and windows are cut out to make a room; it is precisely because the room is empty and bright within that it is useful. Thus, the solid “presence” brings convenience, while the empty “absence” makes things work.

The scripture says: Thirty spokes join at a single hub, and it is precisely because the hub’s center is empty that the wheel can turn and serve its purpose. Clay is kneaded into a vessel and shaped by the potter; it is precisely because the vessel’s interior is empty that it can hold things. Doors and windows are cut into a room, giving it open, light-filled spaces. From this we can see that solid “presence” brings convenience, while empty “absence” enables things to truly serve their purpose.

The Dao (the Way; in this passage, “Dao” explains the principles by which things operate and function) says: The heavens complete a circuit of 365 degrees, divided into the twenty-eight lunar lodges (the twenty-eight constellations by which the ancients divided the sky). The Northern Dipper’s pivot, the North Star, remains fixed in its place, while the other stars revolve around it, like spokes converging on a wheel’s hub. The celestial pivot turns within the span of one degree, embodying the image of “nonbeing.”

The movement of the celestial bodies through the twenty-eight lodges orders the courses of the sun, moon, and five planets, together called the Seven Luminaries, like the turning of a wheel. From this we can see that a thing functions by means of a vehicle, and a vehicle turns by means of the empty space at the center of its wheel. The sky is like an umbrella canopy turned upside down; the earth slopes toward the southeast, like a vessel shaped from kneaded clay. Rivers and seas can be sovereign over all streams because they are adept at occupying low places. This embodies the principle of “nonbeing.” They can cause the atmosphere to fill or diminish, just as a vessel serves its purpose. From this we can see that an object functions by means of its vessel, and a vessel serves by holding and containing things.

Heaven and earth each remain in their place, and the sun and moon shine together. Doors and windows form the image of a room. Light becomes apparent in an empty room, embodying the principle of “nonbeing.” The growth and activity of the myriad things make use of spaces such as rooms. From this we can see that a thing functions by means of a room, and a room serves by leaving space empty. What is solid brings convenience; what is empty and formless enables things to function. Thus, the fullest state seems empty, yet its usefulness is inexhaustible.

De (Virtue/Power; in this passage, “De” explains how the Dao manifests in particular things) says: At dawn on the first day of each lunar month, the Hexagram Zhun (Difficulty at the Beginning) takes charge; at dusk, the Hexagram Meng (Youthful Folly) begins to operate. This illustrates the function of a room. From this we can see that a thing functions by means of a room, and a room serves by leaving space empty. What is solid brings convenience; what is empty and formless enables things to function. Thus, the fullest state seems empty, yet its usefulness is inexhaustible.

Deng Qi explains: On the first day of each month, the hexagram Zhun takes charge, and at dusk the hexagram Meng takes over. One hexagram corresponds to the day and another to the night, used in sequence. Setting aside the four hexagrams that represent the cardinal directions—Qian, Kun, Kan, and Li—the remaining sixty hexagrams are used over the thirty days of the month. This is like thirty spokes converging at a wheel’s hub: the spokes depend on one another, and the hub is hollow; only then can the whole wheel serve its purpose. Inner emptiness and fullness rely on each other, substance and function support each other, advance and retreat work in concert, and Water and Fire are brought into harmony. It is precisely because the center of the hub is empty that the wheel can function.

In cultivation, one embraces primordial Qi and guards the One—that is, focuses the spirit single-mindedly. After ten months, cultivation is complete and the embryo is fully formed, like kneading clay into a vessel. A person can become empty, still, and open, moving freely in and out without showing any sign of difficulty. It is precisely because the vessel is hollow that it can hold things. Going further, one follows the cycles of the Six Jia—a system of divination and timekeeping based on the Heavenly Stems and Earthly Branches—and accords with Heaven and Earth, like cutting doors and windows into a house. Nature and life are both preserved; spirit and body together reach a refined state. One undergoes endless transformations and joins with the Dao in its truth. It is precisely because a house has open space within that it can be put to use. Thus, what has form brings convenience, while the formless empty space is what lets it function.

Chapter Twelve: The Five Colors

Bright colors can dazzle the eyes; complex music can dull the hearing; rich flavors can unsettle the sense of taste. Horseback hunting can throw the mind into turmoil, and rare, precious goods can obstruct a person’s conduct. Therefore, the sage values inner fullness and does not pursue pleasures of the outer senses. The sage sets aside external enticements and chooses what is fundamental within.

The Jing says: The five colors please the eye, yet may make one blind; the five tones please the ear, yet may make one deaf; the five flavors please the palate, yet may unsettle the sense of taste. Hunting in the fields brings pleasure, yet may throw the mind into turmoil. Rare and precious goods can obstruct a person’s conduct. Therefore, the sage does not single-mindedly pursue the pleasures seen by the eye, but attends to inner fullness; the sage sets aside illusory external enticements and chooses what is truly fundamental within.

The Dao says: Heaven and Earth are the “thieves” of the myriad things; the myriad things, in turn, are the “thieves” of humanity; and humans can also become “thieves” of the myriad things. When the relations of taking and using among Heaven and Earth, the myriad things, and humanity are properly ordered, the Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and humanity—can remain at peace. Thus, when food and drink accord with the seasons, the parts of the body are brought into harmony; when action follows the right moment, the transformations of the myriad things settle into balance. But taking and using things improperly brings harm: craving bright colors damages the eyes; being entranced by every kind of sound damages the ears; greed for rich foods disorders the sense of taste; hunting without restraint drives the mind and spirit to madness; and obsession with rare treasures obstructs one’s conduct and aspirations.

Therefore, the sage does not seek to gratify the eyes, but attends to what the belly requires: setting aside illusory things that entice the eyes, the sage takes what the belly truly needs.

De says: Among the five colors, yellow alone is worth looking at; if black, red, and the others are treated as genuinely precious, they will dazzle and blind the eyes. Among the five tones, the gong tone alone is worth hearing; if the shang, jiao, and other tones become objects of obsession, they will damage the hearing. Among the five flavors, sweetness alone is fit to eat; if sour, pungent, and other flavors are pursued excessively, they will disorder the sense of taste. Racing on horseback after birds and hares without restraint can only drive the mind and spirit to madness.

To devote oneself to seeking the pearl beneath the jaw of the black dragon, treating it as a treasure beyond compare, may leave one shattered and broken if one fails to obtain it. How could this merely obstruct one’s conduct? The saying, “Thin wine is better than tea, coarse cloth is better than no clothes, and an ordinary-looking wife or concubine is better than living alone,” speaks precisely of not pursuing appearances to excess, but being content with what one actually needs. This is to set aside alluring illusions and take what is truly beneficial. Hence the saying: set aside that and take this.

Being favored or disgraced is like being startled; regard great calamity as you regard your own body. What does it mean to be favored or disgraced? To be favored is already to be in a low position. When you receive favor, you are alarmed; when you lose it, you are alarmed as well. This is what it means for favor and disgrace to be like being startled. What does it mean to regard calamity as you regard your own body? The reason I suffer great calamity is that I have this body. If I had no body, what calamity could befall me? Therefore, only one who regards himself as precious as the world can be entrusted with the world; only one who cherishes the world as he cherishes himself can be given charge of it.

The Jing says: Favor and disgrace both make one fearful; regard great calamity as you regard your own body. To speak of favor and disgrace is to say that being favored already means occupying a low position: when you receive favor, you are alarmed; when you lose it, you are alarmed too. This is what is meant by “favor and disgrace are like being startled.” Great honor rests upon oneself, and great calamity rests upon oneself as well. If one could be without these calamities, it would be better to have no body. If you regard the world as precious as you regard yourself, the world can be entrusted to you; if you cherish the world as you cherish yourself, you can be given charge of it. This is what is meant by “having no self” (not putting one’s personal interests first).

The Daoist classic also says: “The flying dragon is in the heavens at the fifth line of the ninth place; it is beneficial to see a great person” (the line text for the fifth yang line of the Qian hexagram in the Zhouyi, meaning that the flying dragon is in the heavens and it is fitting for a person of outstanding virtue to appear). When sounds are alike, they answer one another; when vital energies are alike, they attract one another. Water flows toward what is damp, and fire draws near what is dry. Clouds follow the dragon, and wind follows the tiger. When a sage arises, all things can see him: this is receiving Heaven’s favor. The sage accords with the Dao of Heaven and communicates with the world. This is what is meant by “having no self.”

Dao says: At the position of the Nine in the Fifth, one is like a flying dragon in the sky; it is fitting to meet a great person of high virtue and standing. Like sounds naturally answer one another, and like kinds of Qi (vital energy) naturally seek one another out. Water flows toward low, damp places; fire burns toward what is dry. Clouds rise with the dragon, and wind comes with the tiger. When a sage arises, all things can see him. This is because he has received Heaven’s favor. His virtue accords with Heaven and Earth, his brightness with the sun and moon, yet when he receives favor, he is as though alarmed.

At the position of the Nine at the Top, the flying dragon rises too high, and regret follows: his rank is exalted, but he has no fitting office; he stands above, but the people do not support him; worthy and capable people remain in low positions, with no one to assist him. Thus, whatever he does brings regret. After he acts, a Yin line appears below, forming the hexagram Gou. Regret and trouble are signs of unease and apprehension; this is why it says, “When favor is lost, one is as though alarmed.” If the person at the Nine in the Fifth does not regard himself as the most exalted in the world, but instead regards the world as precious, he can remain at the position of the Nine in the Fifth for a long time and will surely avoid the great calamity of the Nine at the Top. This is what is meant by “Whether favored or disgraced, one is as though alarmed.”

Therefore, one regards oneself as precious for the sake of the people of the world; only then can the world be entrusted to one. One cherishes oneself for the sake of the people of the world; only then can the world be entrusted to one. In this way, by not putting oneself first, one avoids calamity. The principle is clear, and one will surely avoid the great calamity of the Nine at the Top. This is what is meant by “Whether favored or disgraced, one is as though alarmed.” Therefore, one regards oneself as precious for the sake of the people of the world; only then can the world be entrusted to one. One cherishes oneself for the sake of the people of the world; only then can the world be entrusted to one. In this way, by not putting oneself first, one avoids calamity; the principle is clear and can be understood.

De says: Know strength, yet hold to weakness; when favored, remain as though alarmed. There is no greater disgrace than to underestimate the enemy in battle. To gain something and not lose it: the greatest honor lies in oneself. To lose something and be unable to recover it: the greatest calamity also falls upon oneself. Acting and clinging to oneself inevitably brings great calamity; Wuwei (non-action), without clinging to oneself, inevitably brings great honor.

Understand that an individual’s life is worth cherishing and protecting only when the people of the world are prosperous and numerous. To benefit the people by meeting their needs is to truly value them; to serve them by meeting their needs is to truly care for them. Therefore, the sage does not rely on himself to possess the world, and so the world can be entrusted to him; he does not rely on himself to govern the world, and so the world can be handed over to him. This is the principle of not clinging to oneself, yet enabling the world to be honored and cared for.

On “Not Seeing It” (Chapter Fourteen of the Dao De Jing).

Looking at it, one cannot see it; this is called “Yi.” Listening for it, one cannot hear it; this is called “Xi.” Reaching for it, one cannot touch it; this is called “Wei.” These three cannot be probed to their ultimate source, and so they merge into one. Above, it does not appear bright; below, it does not appear dark. It extends without end and is difficult to name, yet in the end returns to formlessness and nothingness. This is called the shape without shape, the image without image, and also “the indistinct and elusive”—a state obscure, hazy, and hard to grasp. Face it, and you cannot see its beginning; follow it, and you cannot see its end. Grasp the Dao of ages past and use it to guide the myriad things of the present. To know the source of antiquity is to have grasped the guiding thread of the Dao.

When the scripture says “cannot be seen,” it does not mean a lack of insight; “cannot be heard” does not mean a lack of discernment; and “cannot be touched” does not mean a lack of responsiveness. Yi, Xi, and Wei merge into one: this is the wondrous efficacy contained within the formless, and so it cannot be pursued in words. Above, it does not shine; below, it is not dim. It is transparent and still, perfectly integrated and clear, bright within and without. It extends without end and is difficult to name, yet returns to formlessness and nothingness. This is the shape without shape and the image without image: “the indistinct and elusive.” It has no concrete form that can be depicted. Face it, and you cannot see its beginning; follow it, and you cannot see its end. Grasp the Dao of emptiness that has existed since ancient times and use it to respond to the myriad things that truly exist in the present. To know the ancient source of the Dao is to have grasped the guiding thread of the Dao in the present.

The Dao says: Probe the principles of things to their utmost and let your nature fully unfold; in the end, you will reach a state of understanding the source of life. Therefore, establish precepts, and you can accumulate Jing and Qi. As Jing and Qi accumulate, you can probe the principles of things to their utmost. Through keeping the precepts, enter stillness; in stillness, preserve your original Qi. When your original Qi is abundant, your nature can fully unfold. From stillness, enter wisdom; when wisdom appears, preserve your original Shen. When your original Shen is abundant, you can reach a state of understanding the source of life. Jing, Qi, and Shen merge as one, and this cannot be explained through words or questions.

“Yi, Xi, and Wei” describe a vague, elusive presence that cannot be clearly grasped by sight, hearing, or touch. Above, it is not bright, because there is nothing there that can be called brightness; below, it is not dark, because there is nothing there that can be called darkness. It stretches on without interruption, yet is difficult to name, and ultimately returns to formlessness and emptiness. This is the shape without form, the image without substance, called the “elusive and indistinct.” Face it, and you cannot see its beginning; follow it, and you cannot see its end. Respond to this nature and hold fast to it, and it will continue without end. If you hold to the Dao that has existed since ancient times and use it to govern the things of the present, you can know the Great Beginning—the source from which all things arise before taking form. This is called grasping the guiding principle of the Great Dao.

De says: When Ziyang Zhenren says, “See it, yet you cannot act by relying on it; use it, yet you cannot see it. It meets you amid the elusive and indistinct, and transformation takes place in the deep darkness,” he is describing precisely this state. Jing, Qi, and Shen merge as one, and indeed this cannot be explained through words or questions. Only when your cultivation reaches this point can you understand it for yourself. Hence it is said that in the elusive and indistinct, something seems to be present; in the dim and profound darkness, Jing seems to be present. Face it, and you cannot see its beginning; follow it, and you cannot see its end. That is why it cannot be explained through questions. If you can hold to this Dao and use it to govern the things of the present, while discerning in advance the source of all things, you can act in accordance with the Dao. That is why this is called the guiding principle of the Great Dao.

Chapter Fifteen: Those Skilled in the Dao in Ancient Times

In ancient times, those skilled in cultivating the Dao were subtle and mysterious, and had penetrated the depths of what is hidden. Others found them difficult to fathom. Because they were so difficult to fathom, one can only try to describe them through images: cautious, like someone wading across a river in winter; alert, as if mindful of neighbors on every side; dignified, like a guest; yielding, like ice about to melt; honest and unadorned, like an uncarved block of wood; open-hearted, like a valley; and deep and reserved, like muddy water.

Who can still muddy water and let it slowly clear? Who can sustain stillness and let it gradually come to life? Those who hold to the Dao do not seek to be perfectly complete. Precisely because they do not seek fullness, they can grow worn like old things without hastening to fashion new achievements.

Those in ancient times who attained the Dao were subtle and profound, as dense and turbid as muddy water. Who can still the muddiness and let it slowly become clear? Who can remain settled and steadfast for long, allowing life to emerge gradually? Those who hold to this Dao do not seek fullness. Because they do not seek to be full, they preserve their existing state and do not deliberately pursue new achievements.

Those in ancient times who attained the Dao were subtle and mysterious, penetrating the depths and impossible to fathom. Since they could not truly be seen, one can only reluctantly sketch their appearance: at first, like someone hesitating as they cross a river in winter; then, wary and cautious, as if fearful of those around them; next, solemn like a guest; then open and expansive, like ice about to melt; finally, plain and uncarved like a block of wood, empty like a valley, and indistinct like muddy water. Their appearance underwent seven changes; all these descriptions are only rough approximations. As for stilling muddiness so it slowly becomes clear, and remaining settled and steadfast so that change gradually arises, who can do this? This is a wondrous state that is difficult to put into words. Thus, those who hold to this Dao do not seek fullness. Precisely because they are not full, they can continue to change while preserving their existing state, without deliberately creating new forms.

The Dao—the workings of the Great Dao, as discussed here—says: Heaven does not speak, yet the four seasons run their course; Earth does not speak, yet the Five Phases (Wood, Metal, Water, Fire, Earth) work together; people do not speak, yet all things can find their proper place. Thus, those of ancient times who were skilled in cultivating the Dao were subtle and mysterious, penetrating the depths and impossible to fathom; they embodied the Way of the Three Powers: Heaven, Earth, and humanity. Because they were beyond grasp, one can only reluctantly sketch them: from seeming to hesitate as they cross a river to being indistinct like muddy water, their forms change from one to seven. The muddiness grows still and gradually clears; with long and steady composure, life gradually emerges. Then seven changes to nine. Those who hold to this Dao do not seek fullness, and so they can preserve their existing state without deliberately creating new forms. With further change, nine returns to one.

Laozi’s words are truly grand. Confucius once said that Laozi was perhaps like a dragon. I do not know whether he rode the wind and clouds up to Heaven, but such praise is hardly excessive.

A person who has the Dao truly embodies four qualities: what cannot be seen or touched is called “subtle”; the transformations of Yin and Yang that are difficult to fathom are called “wondrous”; the changes of all things in Heaven and Earth are called “mysterious”; and movement back and forth without end is called “pervading.” Thus “subtle, wondrous, mysterious, and pervading” describes something so profound and distant that it is difficult to understand.

Precisely because it is difficult to understand, it can only be described provisionally: the person is cautious, like someone crossing a river in winter, as if standing before an abyss or stepping on thin ice; alert, as if mindful of neighbors all around and unwilling to take a step rashly; grave, like a guest, not daring to act as the host; and open in mind, like ice beginning to melt—this refers to understanding one’s original mind and seeing one’s nature. The person is plain and sincere, like uncarved wood—here this refers to the Qi of Jia and Geng being upright and complete; broad-minded, like an open valley—here this refers to the gates of Wu and Ji opening; and murky, like turbid water not yet settled—here this refers to gathering and refining lead Qi, as Gui water first comes into being.

Who can still what is turbid until it slowly clears? The highest good is like water. Who can remain settled and steadfast, enduring without change, so that life gradually takes shape? This refers to the ten months of cultivation through which the Neidan matures and becomes complete like a fetus. Jia, Geng, Wu, Ji, lead, and Gui are all terms used in Neidan cultivation.

Those who keep to this Dao do not seek fullness. When full, their spirit becomes exposed and dissipates. Because they do not seek fullness, even when they suffer some loss, it does not hinder their own accomplishment.

End of Volume One of Three Explanations of the True Scripture of the Dao and Its Virtue.

Note: The phrase “Only because he does not claim it does it never depart” was added to the original. It means that because one does not take credit for oneself, one’s merit does not depart.

Chapter Sixteen: Attaining Emptiness and Stillness

Bring the mind’s emptiness to its utmost, and remain wholly devoted to deep stillness. The myriad things grow and change together; from this I observe how they return to their source. Though the myriad things flourish in profusion, each eventually returns to its root. Returning to the root is called stillness; stillness is returning to life’s original state. Returning to the original state is called constancy, and knowing the constant Dao is called clarity. Not knowing the constant Dao, one acts recklessly and invites danger.

Knowing the constant Dao, one can be all-embracing. Being all-embracing, one can be impartial. Being impartial, one can become a model for the world. Becoming a model for the world, one accords with Heaven. Acc ording with Heaven, one accords with the Dao. Acc ording with the Dao, one can endure for a long time and remain free from danger throughout life.

The scripture says: “Attain the utmost emptiness, and hold fast to stillness. All things arise 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 returning to one’s nature. Returning to one’s nature is constancy; knowing constancy is clarity. Not knowing constancy, one acts recklessly and brings danger upon oneself. Knowing constancy makes one all-embracing; being all-embracing makes one just. Being just makes one a ruler; being a ruler brings one into accord with Heaven; being in accord with Heaven brings one into accord with the Dao (the Way). The Dao endures without end, so one will not be in danger throughout one’s life.”

The text speaks twice of “stillness,” “returning to one’s life,” “constancy,” “clarity,” and “knowing constancy makes one all-embracing.” The meaning is the same: if people understand the pattern by which all things return to their roots and become still again, they can follow the constant Way and avoid bringing danger upon themselves through reckless action.

The explanation of the Dao is as follows: the center of the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), the source of all things in the universe, is empty. This is what it means to attain the utmost emptiness. Once emptiness has been carried to its utmost, one must hold fast to stillness. Yin and Yang divide, and the Two Modes are established; from these arise the Four Images and the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), which yield the three hundred and eighty-four lines, while all things come into being. The Qian trigram governs all things. Observing their changes, one can see that all things ultimately return. The Kun trigram bears and gathers all things; thus, after flourishing, each returns to its root. The return of all things to their root is stillness, the place to which all things ultimately return. Stillness is also a return to one’s nature, like the Yang energy that begins to sprout again at the winter solstice. Returning to one’s nature is constancy, like the circuit of the celestial cycle completing itself and beginning anew. Knowing constancy is clarity, like the seasons proceeding without error. Those who do not know constancy cause the people to miss the proper seasons; reckless action therefore brings danger. Knowing constancy makes one able to embrace all things, and so one acts justly. Justice is the foundation of the kingly Way; the kingly Way follows Heaven’s Way, and Heaven’s Way in turn returns to the Dao. The Dao’s movement endures without end, so one will not be in danger throughout one’s life.

The explanation of De (Virtue/Power) cites Ziyang: “The myriad things flourish, then each returns to its root. Returning to the root and restoring one’s life is the enduring way of Heaven. Heaven’s Way returns to the Dao, whose movement endures without end; therefore one will not be in danger throughout one’s life.”

The “De” (Virtue/Power) chapter says: “All things flourish in profusion, yet in the end they return to their source. Returning to the root and restoring one’s original life, one can endure for a long time. Few understand this subtle principle of the constant Dao; stories of people bringing calamity upon themselves through reckless action, however, are often heard.” In governing, stillness and emptiness are carried to the utmost, and the keeping of stillness is made profoundly deep. In this way, all things are allowed to flourish together, and one can observe how they return to their root. All things flourish in profusion, each returning to its source; people, by contrast, busily rush about, unaware that they should return to their nature and rest content with the Mandate of Heaven. How tragic. Returning to one’s original life is called “constancy”; understanding the constant Dao is called “illumination.” One who understands the constant Dao will not labor through reckless action. One who does not understand it will take reckless action as normal. Treating reckless action as normal leads one to indulge desires, exhaust Jing (essence), and dissipate one’s true nature, thereby bringing calamity upon oneself. Understanding the constant Dao enables one to embrace all things. Embracing all things enables one to be impartial; through impartiality one can become a king; as king, one can accord with the Way of Heaven; and by according with the Way of Heaven, one can unite with the Dao. Attaining the Dao brings long endurance, so one remains free from danger throughout life.

Chapter Seventeen of the Supreme Text

With the most accomplished ruler, the people are barely aware of his presence. With the next, the people feel close to him and praise him. With the next, they fear him. The worst ruler is treated with contempt by the people. When a ruler’s trustworthiness is insufficient, the people do not trust him. Therefore, a ruler should value his words and be cautious in making promises. Once the work is done and the achievement complete, the people all say that it happened naturally.

The commentary on the classic says: The highest Dao is something whose presence the people do not feel. With the next level of Dao, the people feel close to it and then praise it. At the level below that, the people do not feel close to it, but still fear it. At the next level, they neither fear it nor respect it, and so treat it with contempt. Thus, when a ruler lacks trustworthiness, the people do not trust him. A ruler should be deliberate and cautious, and value what he says. Once the work is done and the achievement complete, the people all say it happened naturally.

Another commentary says: The highest Dao is like the circle of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), the undivided, integrated state before Yin and Yang separate. The people’s lack of awareness of its presence is like Taiji giving rise to the Two Modes (Yin and Yang). When the people next feel close to it and praise it, this is like the Two Modes giving rise to the Four Images; when they then fear it, this is like the Four Images giving rise to the Eight Trigrams. When trustworthiness is insufficient, some will not trust; this is like using the Eight Trigrams to determine fortune and misfortune. When one speaks cautiously and values one’s words, changes in fortune and misfortune can bring an undertaking to completion. After the work is done and the achievement complete, the humane see humanity in it, and the wise see wisdom in it. The people use the Dao in their daily lives without knowing it, and so those who truly understand the way of the noble person are few. The people all say, therefore, that everything is simply as it naturally is.

“De” says: The Supreme Dao—the highest realization of the Way—is like the breath of Yang arising in the southwest. Only by observing it from below can one begin to know it exists. Those of the next rank neither understand nor observe the Way; they simply draw near to it and praise it. Those below them hear of it and grow afraid. Those lower still mock and slight it. If it were not mocked, it would not be worthy of being called the Dao. The people of the world have no affinity with the Dao; their faith is too weak, so some do not believe in it at all. The sage still cherishes words, using them to help people understand the Dao. When the work is complete and things are accomplished, the people all say, “I did this by following the natural Way.” Yet they do not know that the sage once cherished words and guided them to understand the Dao.

The tenth sentence of the chapter “When the Great Dao Declines” says: “Help people understand the Dao. When the work is complete and things are accomplished, the people all say they did it by following the natural Way, yet they do not know that the sage once cherished words.” (This passage quotes what came before.)

The eighteenth passage of the chapter “When the Great Dao Declines”:

Only when the Great Dao declined did benevolence and righteousness appear. Only when cleverness and intelligence arose did great hypocrisy appear. Only when families fell into discord did people advocate filial devotion and loving care. Only when states fell into disorder did loyal ministers come to prominence.

The classic says: When the Great Dao flourished, there was no need to advocate benevolence and righteousness. They appeared precisely because the Great Dao had declined. Great hypocrisy arose only when cleverness and intelligence flourished. When families lived in harmony, there was no need to speak especially of filial devotion and loving care. Once people began speaking of filial devotion and loving care, it showed that families had already fallen into discord. When a state was well governed, there was no need to praise loyal ministers. Once people began speaking of loyal ministers, it showed that the state had fallen into disorder. This is the natural course of things.

“Dao” says: When the Great Dao declined, the “Seven Righteous Ones” appeared, as with Yao and Shun after Xi and Nong—Fuxi and Shennong. When cleverness and intelligence flourished, great hypocrisy appeared, as with Jie and Zhou after Yu and Tang. When families fell into discord, filial devotion and loving care came to be praised, as with Kings You and Li after Kings Wen and Wu. When states fell into disorder, loyal ministers appeared, as with King Ding of Zhou and King Ai of Zhou after Duke Huan of Qi and Duke Wen of Jin. After the Great Dao declined, the sages took the Three Sovereigns as their models and compiled the Zhouyi. After benevolence and righteousness appeared, the sages honored the Five Constant Virtues—benevolence, righteousness, ritual, wisdom, and trustworthiness—and arranged the Shangshu. After cleverness and intelligence flourished, the sages took the Three Kings as their models and edited the Shijing. After great hypocrisy appeared, the sages took the Five Hegemons of the Spring and Autumn period as their cautionary examples and composed the Chunqiu. Accounts of filial devotion, loving care, and loyal ministers are also contained in these classics.

“De” says: The Great Dao is like the most fundamental medicine, while benevolence and righteousness are like various auxiliary medicines. Wisdom is a subtle method, whereas great deception is a deviant path. When the fundamental medicine is discarded, people have no choice but to rely on auxiliary medicines; hence the saying, “Only when the Great Dao is abandoned do benevolence and righteousness arise.” Once a subtle method is brought to light, it can easily be accompanied by deviant paths; hence the saying, “Only when wisdom appears does great deception arise.” A medicine can take shape only when it meets materials whose Qi (vital energy) accords with its own nature. The Great Dao, by contrast, is profound and formless, in harmony with nature. Only when family members are at odds do people urge filial devotion and loving care. Only after swallowing a Golden Elixir (the Daoist medicine refined within the body) does one understand that one’s nature and life are not determined by Heaven. Only when a state is in turmoil do loyal ministers appear.

Chapter 19: “Abandon Sageship and Discard Wisdom”

Discard self-proclaimed sage wisdom, and the people will gain a hundredfold. Discard benevolence and righteousness displayed for effect, and the people will recover their innate filial devotion and loving care. Discard cunning and the pursuit of gain, and thieves will disappear. If these three statements are treated as mere words, they are not enough to convey their meaning. So give people something to return to and follow: preserve simplicity and reduce selfishness and desire.

The scripture says: Discard self-proclaimed sage wisdom, and the people will gain a hundredfold. Discard benevolence and righteousness displayed for effect, and the people will recover their innate filial devotion and loving care. Discard cunning and the pursuit of gain, and thieves will disappear. If these three statements are treated as mere words, they are not enough to convey their meaning. So let each have a proper place, giving people something to follow. Preserve simplicity, and keep selfishness and desire to a minimum.

The Dao says: Give up the belief that you are wise and clever, and the people will benefit a hundredfold. If I do not interfere recklessly, the people will naturally become prosperous. Give up the deliberate display of benevolence and righteousness, and the people will recover their natural filial devotion and loving care. If I have no greed, the people will naturally be simple and sincere. Give up scheming for advantage and the pursuit of profit, and thieves will disappear. The more numerous and intricate the laws, the more thieves there will be.

If wisdom, benevolence and righteousness, and clever pursuit of profit are established as rules and institutions, the people will lose their natural prosperity and simplicity. Each has its corresponding outcome: wisdom leads the people to chase after gain; benevolence and righteousness correspond to filial devotion and loving care; clever pursuit of profit corresponds to thieves. Only by revealing the Great Dao’s original simplicity and holding fast to fundamental plainness can one reduce selfishness and desire. These three problems can then be resolved without relying on elaborate instruction.

De says: Only after the Great Dao declined did people begin to make a show of benevolence and righteousness; only after clever deceit and the pursuit of profit arose did thieves appear. This is because laws and instruction were insufficient, so various institutions were created to address each problem. The Dao exists in its innate, natural state, without written words or speech, and without contrivance for deceit or profit; wisdom, benevolence, and righteousness are therefore already contained within it naturally. Ziyang, a Daoist figure, said, “Do not use clever deceit and false adornment to make a deliberate effort; recognize the deathless method in another’s household.” This is what he meant. Only by encountering the Plain Woman of Mount Taibai—a symbol of one who manifests an unadorned nature—and embracing one’s innate, simple nature can one naturally reduce selfishness and desire.

Only by abandoning worldly learning and the mind that makes distinctions can one be free of worry. How great is the difference between a respectful “Yes” and an unthinking “Yeah”? How far apart are good and evil? What everyone fears cannot simply be left unfearing. Worldly desires surge without limit, seeming never to reach an end.

Everyone is joyful and excited, as if attending a lavish sacrificial feast or climbing a terrace in spring. I alone am quiet and detached, as though my thoughts had not yet taken shape, like an infant who has not grown and does not know where to turn. Everyone seems to have plenty; I alone seem to have lost something. My mind really does seem like that of a fool, muddled and confused. Worldly people are discerning and perceptive; I alone seem dim. They are clever and keen; I alone seem slow and dull. I drift in a haze, as if in darkness; still and without a place to rely on, I seem to have nowhere to settle. Everyone has something to depend on; I alone am stubborn and unsophisticated. I am different from everyone else because I treasure drawing nourishment from the mother of all things, the source of the Dao.

The scripture says: Cut off worldly learning and distinctions, and you can be free of worry. How great, in truth, is the difference between a respectful response and an unthinking echo? How far apart are good and evil? What everyone fears cannot simply be left unfearing. If one truly feared nothing at all, one would sink into indulgence without end. Everyone is joyful and excited, as if attending a lavish sacrificial feast or climbing a terrace in spring. I alone am quiet and detached, as though I had not yet taken shape, like a bewildered infant not yet grown, with nowhere to turn. Everyone feels they have more than enough of life’s pleasures; I alone always seem to be lacking something. Could I really have the mind of a fool? I am simply muddled and confused, as if I knew nothing. Worldly people are discerning and perceptive; I seem dim. They are clever and keen; I seem slow and dull. I drift in a haze of darkness, still and without a place to rely on. Everyone has something to depend on; I alone am stubborn and unsophisticated. Why am I different from everyone else? Because I treasure drawing nourishment from the mother of all things.

The Dao says: Cut off these three kinds of worldly learning, and you can begin to be free of worry. How great is the difference between sagely wisdom, benevolence and righteousness, and flattery and dependence, scheming for private gain, and thievery? How far apart are the goodness of sagely wisdom and the evil of thievery? A noble person has three things to hold in awe: the Mandate of Heaven.

The Dao says: Only by abandoning distinctions built on sagacity, wisdom, benevolence, and righteousness can one begin to be free of anxiety. A respectful “Yes” and a casual reply may seem far apart. Yet once sagacity, wisdom, benevolence, and righteousness become tools for currying favor and seeking profit, they may come perilously close to the conduct of thieves. How great, in the end, is the distance between the goodness of sagacity and wisdom and the evil of thieves?

A noble person has three things to revere: Heaven’s Mandate, great people of virtue and rank, and the words of the sages. The petty person does not understand Heaven’s Mandate and so does not revere it. Unrestrained and excessive, such a person will do anything.

To climb a high terrace in spring and feast on abundant sacrificial offerings is, in the eyes of the world, the greatest happiness imaginable. I alone am indifferent and without desire, as though I had not yet taken shape, like an infant not yet grown, still too young even to be carried and cared for. I drift without direction, as though I had nowhere to return. Everyone thinks they have a surplus, but this is the road to loss. I alone seem to have lost something; this, instead, is the road to gain.

In this sense, my mind is perhaps like that of a fool: muddled and confused, keeping only to its unadorned nature. Worldly people are discerning and exacting; they often call what is absent present, and what is empty full. I alone am dim and dull, seeming to have nothing, as though I were utterly empty. Then suddenly night falls, as if I had entered a state of quiet rest: still and vast, with nowhere to settle, making no deliberate effort.

Everyone acts with a clear purpose. I alone seem slow and inept, and whatever I do arises without intention. There is only one thing that sets me apart from everyone else: I seek the “Mother” Dao that nurtures all things—the source of the Dao—while others do not understand its preciousness.

The De says: If I abandon the pursuit of sagacity and wisdom, and cease seeking worldly gains acquired after birth and the thieves’ private profits, what anxieties or concerns could I have? Thus even between a respectful response and a casual reply there is a difference of dignity.

The meaning of the chapter “De” (Virtue/Power) is this: If I can put an end to studies that pursue worldly cleverness and skill, and stop seeking the gains of theft that arise after birth, what would I still have to worry about or be troubled by? So how far apart can a respectful reply and a careless response really be? And how far apart can good and evil be?

The Great Dao is of the utmost importance, so one must be cautious in both action and stillness. If one knows no fear or restraint, then whether one is aligned with Metal on the left or Wood on the right, one will do anything at all. Everyone else is cheerful and excited, as though enjoying a lavish sacrificial feast or climbing a terrace on a spring day to gaze into the distance, immersed in supreme delight. I alone remain wary and guarded. Why? Before the two Qi of Yin and Yang have taken visible form, when an infant has not yet grown into a child, life seems to have no settled destination.

A practitioner should nourish the self as a tortoise holds its breath and a hen broods over her eggs, and guard the root as a dragon sheds its old form and a snake preserves its life. At dawn, one remains in difficulty and primordial obscurity; by night, things are still unclear. At noon, Yin Qi first arises; at midnight, Yang Qi begins again. These expressions draw on the changing phases of hexagram Qi in the Classic of Changes to describe the waxing and waning of Yin and Yang, cycling back and forth. Everyone says they have gained something and have more than enough. Do they truly understand me? I seem instead to have lost much. I am not like a fool who cannot be content; I am simply muddled and unformed, intent on nurturing the Great Dao.

I am dim and weary, still anxious that what I have been nurturing might dissipate. If I were clear-sighted and discerning, what would there be to fear? So I am like the moon in its darkness, when light is about to be born but its brightness has temporarily subsided; and like a life close to decline that nevertheless continues to move. Quiet and empty, I seem to have no fixed place to return to.

In the midst of indistinctness, there must be something real. Everyone who obtains it can put it to use; I alone seem dull and uncouth. I wish to make it firm and pure, enduring through ten thousand kalpas. Then I will dispel illusory and deluded thoughts, return to reality and stillness, and change along with the myriad things, joining with the Dao in its truth. This is precisely how I differ from everyone else: I cherish the state of things at their beginning, as though still in the womb, drawing nourishment from the mother. Thus it is said that all the women under Heaven are my mothers.

A person of great De (Virtue/Power) acts in complete accord with the Dao (the Way). As a presence, the Dao is indistinct and elusive, impossible to see clearly or describe fully; yet within that indistinctness there seem to be images and things. It is deep and obscure, yet contains a subtle essence. This subtle essence is real and not illusory, and within it there is a basis that can be trusted. From ancient times to the present, the name of the Dao has never disappeared, so it can be used to observe the source of all things. How do I know that the source of all things is like this? By relying on the Dao.

The scripture says: The conduct of a person whose De is abundant is wholly in accord with the Dao. The Dao is indistinct and elusive, yet seems to contain images and things. Within its depth and obscurity lies a subtle essence, and this essence is real and trustworthy. Images, things, subtle essence, and trustworthiness all appear amid indistinctness and depth. From ancient times to the present, the name of the Dao has never disappeared, so through it one can observe the source of all things. How do I know that the source of all things is like this? I rely on the Dao, subtle and trustworthy.

Daoists say: The De embodied by the “zhuo” is harmonious and wondrous; the De embodied by the trigrams is upright and discerning. Both arise from the union of Yin-Yang, and this is what is called the Dao. Thus, everything accords with the Dao. When the Dao cannot be seen and is difficult to grasp, people are unlikely to notice that it contains images and things. Only by holding fast to the subtle and trustworthy Dao and putting it into practice continually can one experience it amid depth and mystery. This is why the name of the Dao has been passed down from ancient times to the present. To observe the Dao’s mysteries without desire, to penetrate ever deeper into the hidden and profound, and to enter the gate of all wonders—this is what is meant.

The school of De says: When a person studies the Dao but has no De to put into practice, they should devote themselves to following the Dao. This is what is meant by “the conduct of great De follows the Dao.” The innate source meets amid indistinctness, and so does the innate image; thus the name of the Dao has never disappeared. To observe its mysteries without desire, to penetrate deeply into the hidden and profound, and to enter the gate of all wonders—this is what is meant.

The “De” (Virtue/Power) chapter says: When people study the Dao (the Way) without De to sustain them, they can only follow the Dao. The way great De appears is as harmony with nature. The things of the primordial state meet amid indistinct obscurity; its images emerge in a hazy, elusive realm. The primordial Jing and Qi (essence and vital energy) come from a deep and shadowy source, and their subtle reality is genuine. The signs of trust in the primordial state also come from a profound and subtle source, and their reliability is beyond doubt. Thus, from ancient times to the present, the names “lead” and “mercury”—terms in Daoist alchemy, also often used as metaphors for Yin-Yang essence and Qi—have been passed down, serving to observe the original state of human life. How do we know that life’s original state is good? We know it through this primordial lead and mercury.

Chapter 22: Bending, One Is Made Whole

Bending enables one to remain whole; being humbled enables one to straighten; low places become full; what is old becomes new; taking little brings gain; grasping at too much leads to confusion. Therefore, the sage holds fast to the One of the Dao—the Dao’s fundamental principle—and makes it the standard for the world. Because he does not rush to put himself forward, he understands; because he does not insist on being right, he becomes clear; because he does not boast, he achieves; because he is not proud and self-satisfied, he endures. Precisely because he does not contend, no one in the world can contend with him. Could the ancients’ saying, “Bending, one is made whole,” really be empty words? Indeed, one can preserve oneself and return to the Great Dao.

The Jing (classic) says: Bending enables one to remain whole; being humbled enables one to straighten; low places become full; what is worn out becomes new; taking little brings gain; grasping at too much leads to confusion. This describes the pattern by which things wax and wane, flourish and decline. Therefore, the sage holds fast only to the Dao’s fundamental principle and makes it the standard for the world. Because he does not rush to put himself forward, he can understand; because he does not insist on being right, he can become clear; because he does not boast, he can achieve; because he is not proud and self-satisfied, he can endure. Precisely because he does not contend, no one in the world can contend with him. The ancients said, “Bending, one is made whole”—could that really be empty words? Indeed, one can remain whole and return to the Great Dao.

The Dao says: The inchworm bends its body in order to stretch forward; the dragon and snake coil low in order to preserve themselves. One studies principles deeply and enters the realm of mystery in order to put what one has learned into practice. One uses learning well and finds a settled place for oneself in order to strengthen one’s De.

Things often bend and suffer restraint before they can become whole again and stretch upright. They first fall into a low and diminished state before they can be replenished and renewed. They first give something up before they can gain. When they possess too much, they become confused. This is the pattern of waxing and waning, fullness and decline. Therefore, the sage holds fast to the “One” that runs through beginning and end—the fundamental Dao—and becomes a model whom all under Heaven look up to and follow. The sage does not display himself, and so can draw on the wisdom of all under Heaven. He does not insist that he is right, and so can draw on the understanding of all under Heaven. He does not boast of his achievements, and so can help bring about the accomplishments of all under Heaven. He does not exalt himself, and so can bring out the strengths of all under Heaven. Precisely because he does not contend, no one under Heaven can contend with him. Is this empty talk? He truly can preserve himself and return to the Great Dao.

De says: What is truly straight appears crooked; what is truly skillful appears clumsy; those who are truly eloquent appear inarticulate. Thus the soft can overcome the hard, and the weak can overcome the strong. These words are sound: one can truly preserve oneself and return to the Great Dao.

De says again: What is truly straight appears crooked; what is truly skillful appears clumsy; those who are truly eloquent appear inarticulate. Thus the soft overcomes the hard and the weak overcomes the strong—this is indeed inevitable. The Perfected Person of Ziyang once said: “Treat the gate that leads to death as a road to life; do not mistake the gate of life for a road to death. Only when you understand that the killing force can turn and transform will you know that within calamity lie the seeds of life and blessing.” This is what it means that bending can preserve what is whole. Therefore, the sage holds fast to the “One” of Taiji (the fundamental state that contains all things, before Yin and Yang have divided). Like a submerged dragon, he does not reveal himself lightly or act prematurely; he is firm and unshakable, and becomes a model for all under Heaven. Thus, those who display themselves are not wise; those who insist they are right cannot make themselves known; those who boast of their achievements have no real accomplishments; those who exalt themselves cannot endure. Only the two words “not contending” can carry one throughout the world, with no one able to contend against them. So, when it is said that bending allows one to remain whole, is this empty talk? One truly ought to preserve oneself and return to the Great Dao.

“Rare Words Are Natural,” Chapter Twenty-Three

“Few words accord with the natural way”: speaking little is what accords with nature. A gale cannot last all morning, and a downpour cannot last all day. What brings them about? Heaven and Earth. Even the winds and rains brought forth by Heaven and Earth cannot continue for long; how much less can human actions?

Thus, those who act in accordance with the Dao become one with the Dao; those who act in accordance with De become one with De; and those who act wrongly become one with wrongdoing. When one is in accord with the Dao, the Dao receives them; when one is in accord with De, De receives them; when one is in accord with wrongdoing, wrongdoing follows in turn. If trust is lacking, others will not believe.

The commentary explains that “Yi Xi” interprets “few words,” meaning to speak little, and that “the natural way” means following the patterns of nature. The coming and going of wind and rain follows its own pattern: neither can persist for long, and this too is part of the natural way of Heaven and Earth. Accordingly, when one acts in keeping with this and becomes one with the Dao, the Dao receives them; when one is in accord with De, De receives them. Even wrongdoing brings consequences that correspond to it. If someone lacks trustworthiness, distrust will arise; but once the principle is put into practice, its effects become clear. The Dao, however, is not put into effect indiscriminately: it will not act for someone who is not suited to it.

The Dao De Jing says: “Those who stand on tiptoe are unsteady; those who stride too far cannot go the distance. Those who show themselves off cannot see things clearly; those who think themselves right cannot make themselves known. Those who boast have no merit, and those who exalt themselves cannot endure. From the perspective of the Dao (the Way), these practices are like leftover food and growths on the body. People generally dislike them, so those who have the Dao do not act this way.”

The chapter on De (Virtue/Power) goes on to say that Heaven and Earth regulate the myriad things through thunder and wind, while sages use lead and mercury—two substances used in alchemy—as medicines for cultivation. “Speak little and follow nature” is the principle that accords with the Dao. Violent winds and rainstorms are signs that Yin-Yang is operating out of balance. The Ninth Five line of the “Wuwang” hexagram in the Zhouyi says, “An unexpected illness: do not take medicine, and there will be joy.” This means that if someone falls ill without cause, they may recover without taking medicine. The line commentary explains that one should not try medicines rashly for this kind of unexpected illness. Black lead and mercury, too, are products of water and fire operating out of balance. The top line, the Ninth, of the Wuwang hexagram says, “Acting without restraint brings misfortune; nothing is gained.” Its meaning is that acting recklessly invites disaster and brings no benefit. The line commentary explains that when such action reaches its extreme, disaster follows. If even Heaven and Earth and the sages cannot remain for long in this abnormal state, how much less can ordinary people?

Thus, those who affirm the Dao find that the Dao accords with them; those who affirm De find that De accords with them; and those who turn toward losing the Dao likewise find themselves in accord with that loss. If their faith is insufficient, they will eventually cease to believe in the Dao. This is what is called “missing it right before one’s eyes”: living a whole life in vain, then dying in vain, and finally rotting away like plants and trees. How pitiful.

The chapter “Those Who Stand on Tiptoe Do Not Stand Firm” quotes lines from chapter twenty-four of the Dao De Jing: those who stand on tiptoe are unsteady, and those who stride too far cannot go the distance; those who show themselves off do not see clearly, and those who think themselves right cannot make themselves known. The text explains that those who raise their heels cannot stand firm, and those who take long strides cannot go far; those who boast have no merit, and those who exalt themselves cannot endure. Judged by the standards of the Dao, these actions are like scraps of food and needless growths on the body, which people generally find distasteful. Those who have the Dao therefore do not adopt them.

“To stand on tiptoe is barely to see”; it does not amount to true discernment. “To limp is barely to walk”; it does not amount to striding forward with strength, much less to walking on tiptoe or taking great strides. Shun opened pathways in all four directions, so that people everywhere could see and hear. Thus he wore the beaded crown of an emperor, whose hanging jade strands obscured his vision: he seemed not to see clearly, yet he saw clearly. He plugged his ears with yellow silk-cotton earplugs: he seemed unable to hear, yet he listened widely to others’ counsel. Shun also admonished Yu: “If you do not boast of your abilities, no one under Heaven will contend with you over ability; if you do not boast of your achievements, no one under Heaven will contend with you over merit.” From the perspective of the Dao (the Way), deliberate action is like leftover food; punitive laws and commands, and deliberately proclaiming one’s Virtue (De), are like needless excrescences. All things may well loathe these, and so the one who has the Dao does not act this way.

“One who stands on tiptoe cannot stand firm” refers to being excessively aloof and withdrawn, with few desires and a solitary life. “One who takes great strides cannot walk far” refers to favoring isolated Yin or isolated Yang and losing balance. How, then, could one go far? The True Person of Ziyang said, “Know that the truly reclusive person can live in the marketplace; do not confine yourself to solitary stillness deep in the mountains.” This is precisely the point. Thus the Jing (scripture) says: those who display themselves are not discerning; those who consider themselves right cannot shine; those who boast have no merit; those who are self-important cannot endure. From the perspective of the Dao, the surplus “food” refers to swallowing saliva and taking in Qi through breath practices and similar methods of cultivation; the surplus “action” refers to sitting in stillness until one becomes ill from prolonged meditation. All things may well loathe these, and so the one who has the Dao does not act this way.

Chapter 25: “There Was Something Formed in Confusion”

There was a whole and undifferentiated presence that existed before Heaven and Earth appeared. Silent and still, vast and formless, it exists independently and does not change. It moves in cycles without ceasing and can serve as the source of all things under Heaven. I do not know its name, so I call it “Dao”; forced to give it a name, I call it “Great.” Great, it moves without ceasing; this is called “passing away.” Moving without ceasing, it reaches far; this is called “distant.” Having traveled to the farthest point, it returns; this is called “returning.” Thus the Dao is great, Heaven is great, Earth is great, and the king is great. Between Heaven and Earth there are four great things, and the king is one of them. Human beings take Earth as their model; Earth takes Heaven as its model; Heaven takes the Dao as its model; and the Dao takes what is natural as its model.

The scripture says: There is a single, undivided presence that existed before Heaven and Earth took shape. It is silent and still, vast and formless. It stands alone without changing, and moves without pause or exhaustion. It can serve as the mother of all things under Heaven. It is the supreme treasure born before Heaven and Earth. I do not know what it was originally called, so I call it the Dao (the Way), and, having no better name, call it “Great.” When greatness reaches its utmost, it moves and transforms; in moving, it travels far, and having traveled far, it returns. This is the principle of setting out from the beginning and returning to the end. Thus the Dao is great, Heaven is great, Earth is great, and the king is also great. There are four great things between Heaven and Earth, and the king is one of them, bearing the responsibility of governing people. People take Earth as their model; Earth takes Heaven as its model; Heaven takes the Dao as its model; and the Dao takes nature as its model. This expresses the Dao’s subtle workings.

The Dao says: Within the emptiness and stillness of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate, the original state before Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things differentiated), there is a spirit who dwells there and rules over the Dao. People take Earth as their model; Earth takes Heaven as its model; Heaven takes the Dao as its model; and the Dao takes nature as its model. This expresses the Dao’s subtle workings.

The Dao says: Within Taiji’s emptiness and stillness is a wondrous presence, formed as a single whole and already existing before Heaven and Earth. From it, the two primary forces of Yin and Yang were established. It is silent and vast, dwelling in the realm of the formless and nonexistent. It was born before the myriad things and stands above them. It exists alone without changing its nature, and moves without pause or exhaustion; it can indeed serve as the mother of all things under Heaven. Therefore, the sages call it the Dao and, having no better name, call it “Great.” The Book of Changes says: “How great is the origin of Qian! All things begin to grow through it, and it governs Heaven. Clouds move and rain falls; all kinds of things thereby take shape. Its radiance illuminates the beginning and end of things, and the six lines each take form in their proper sequence.” That is why it is called “Great.” Greatness means moving and transforming; moving means traveling far, and having traveled far, returning. This is the principle of passing from decline to renewed life. Thus the Dao is great: its wondrous transformations have no fixed place, and the changes described by the Book of Changes have no fixed form. Heaven is great: Heaven does not speak, yet the four seasons proceed as they should. Earth is great: Earth follows Heaven’s seasons, and all things grow from it. The king is also great: when Heaven and Earth first took shape and the myriad things were still indistinct, the king was to establish feudal lords and bring order to the realm, without daring to slacken. There are four great things between Heaven and Earth, and the king is one of them, the ruler of humanity. People take Earth as their model; Earth takes Heaven as its model; Heaven takes the Dao as its model; and the Dao takes nature as its model. This is how the Dao operates in the human world. The words of the sage are truly great!

De (Virtue/Power) says: Within the circle of Taiji is a wondrous presence whose weight may be said to be one jin and sixteen liang, plus three hundred and eighty-four “lords.” People take Earth as their model; Earth takes Heaven as its model; Heaven takes the Dao as its model; and the Dao takes nature as its model. This is how the Dao operates in the human world. The words of the sage are truly great!

“De” says: Within Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate, the fundamental state before Heaven and Earth are divided and before the myriad things come into being), there is a wondrous thing. Its weight is equivalent to one jin, sixteen liang, and three hundred and eighty-four zhu. It took five thousand and forty years, and another five thousand and forty days, to coalesce. It is shaped like an egg, colored like cinnabar, bright as the sun, and sweeter than sweet dew. It came into being before Heaven and Earth, yet was completed after them. When Heaven and Earth obtained it, they brought forth the myriad things; when sages obtained it, they governed the people. Silent and independent, it does not change; circulating and moving everywhere, it is not harmed by change. It can serve as the foundation of all people and things under Heaven. Its workings are unfathomable, so sages call it the “Dao,” and, for lack of a better name, call it “Great.” What is great travels far; having traveled far, it returns. Returning to the root, it does not depart from it.

Heaven is described as “beginning to generate,” speaking from above downward, and the ruler takes this as his guiding principle. Earth is described as “already formed,” speaking from below upward, and the ruler also takes this as his guiding principle. The myriad things are generated by Heaven and Earth, whose source lies in the Dao. The ruler occupies the center and directs affairs of state; his foundation lies within his own heart. The sage exhausts the principles of things and fully understands human nature, ultimately reaching the state of fulfilling Heaven’s mandate.

Chapter Twenty-Six: Weight Is the Root of Lightness

Weight is the root of lightness; stillness is the ruler of agitation. Thus, the gentleman travels all day without leaving his baggage cart behind. Even amid splendid sights, he remains settled and self-possessed. A ruler who commands ten thousand chariots—how can he treat the realm lightly? To act lightly is to lose one’s ministers; to be agitated is to lose a ruler’s dignity.

The “Jing” says: Weight is the root of lightness; stillness is the ruler of agitation. Thus, the gentleman travels all day without leaving his baggage cart behind. If a ruler who commands ten thousand chariots can avoid treating the realm lightly, he will not lose his ministers. Even when faced with splendid sights, he can remain settled and composed, without losing his stillness. Acting lightly will surely cause him to lose his ministers; acting in agitation will surely make him lose the dignity proper to a ruler.

The Dao says: A tree that is wide enough for two arms to encircle grows from a tiny sprout. The heavy is the root of the light; stillness is the standard for all under Heaven; and stillness governs agitation.

Thus, the noble person travels all day without leaving the cart that carries the baggage. This means that one must not let recklessness and agitation weigh one down. Even amid magnificent scenery, one should regard frivolous things with composure; dwelling in stillness, one remains detached and content, using calm to master agitation.

How can the ruler of ten thousand chariots—the sovereign of a great state—govern the world recklessly? Being grounded and steady is the root of frivolity; when the ruler remains still and clear, he can govern the people’s agitation. Frivolity is like branches and leaves; steadiness is the root.

Looking at all things between Heaven and Earth, branches and leaves depend on Heaven and occupy the upper position. In this sense, the light seems to govern the heavy. The root depends on Earth and occupies the lower position; in this sense, the heavy seems subordinate to the light. If one clings to frivolous conduct, one loses the root of steadiness. Hence the saying: “The light loses its minister.”

In governing the state, stillness means Wuwei (non-action), while agitation means action. When the ruler practices Wuwei, the people can transform and develop of their own accord. Wuwei occupies the higher position, so stillness governs agitation. When the ruler acts rashly, the people fall into disorder. Action occupies the lower position, so agitation is subordinate to stillness. If one clings to agitated conduct, one loses the stillness that governs. Hence the saying: “Agitation loses its ruler.” This is the deeper meaning of Laozi’s words.

De’s commentary says: The Perfected One Pure Yang once said, “The Dao is originally a single, formless Qi—the primordial vital energy spoken of in Daoism. It gives rise to Heaven, Earth, and humanity. The generation and transformation of all things depend on this vital energy and spirit, and all have their source in the Mysterious Female, the wondrous root from which the Dao gives birth to all things. The gate of the Mysterious Female is the foundation of Heaven and Earth. Thus, weightiness is the root of lightness.”

The Perfected One Upright Yang once said: “There are three thousand six hundred gates to the wondrous methods of cultivation, and each student of the Dao takes one of them as fundamental. Who knows that the true methods of the immortals lie beyond these three thousand six hundred gates? Thus it is said that stillness is the master of agitation.”

Therefore, the noble person does not stray from the baggage train—the carts that carry supplies on a military campaign, symbolizing one’s foundation and support—even in the course of a whole day’s work. Just as a ruler commanding ten thousand chariots would not, through his own lightness, treat the world lightly. Even while dwelling in a splendid palace or temple, his thoughts do not waver; settled in a quiet place, he stands apart, letting go of both mind and surroundings. Lightness loses the support of those below; an unstable foundation also damages what is most precious in cultivation. Agitation loses its mastery, and excessive heat during cultivation can injure the Primordial Yang, the body’s innate Yang energy.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Skilled Travelers Leave No Tracks

Those skilled at walking leave no wheel ruts or footprints. Those skilled at speaking have no flaws in their words. Those skilled at planning need no counting rods or devices. Those skilled at closing need no bar, yet no one can open what they have shut. Those skilled at tying need no rope, yet no one can undo what they have bound.

Therefore, the sage is always skilled at helping people, and so no one is abandoned; always skilled at helping things, and so nothing is discarded. This is called inheriting and putting the way of wisdom into practice.

The good person is the teacher of the person who is not good; the person who is not good serves as a lesson for the good person. To fail to honor the teacher and to value the lesson is to remain confused, however clever one may think oneself. This is the subtle essence of the matter.

Spring, summer, autumn, and winter are the four seasons in Heaven’s workings, like four storehouses in the sky. The finest workings leave no wheel tracks behind. The Changes, the Documents, the Songs, and the Spring and Autumn Annals are the four classics through which the sages illuminate the principles of the Dao. The finest words have no flaws or omissions. Birth, growth, harvest, and storage are the order in which Heaven and Earth operate. The finest plans need no counters or calculating tools. Earth follows the Dao of Kun—the yielding way that bears and stores all things—and so excels at concealing them: though it uses no bolt, it cannot be opened. Heaven follows the Dao of Qian—the firm way that governs and brings forth all things—and so excels at binding them together: though it uses no rope, they cannot be untied.

Thus the sage guides people by the enduring principles of Heaven and Earth, and so no one is cast aside. The sage treats all things by those same enduring principles, and so nothing is cast aside. This is called carrying one another forward and illuminating one another. What does “carrying forward and illuminating” mean? A good person can serve as a teacher to someone who is not good, and someone who is not good can serve as a lesson to a good person. In this way they carry one another forward—how could that not be illumination? If you do not respect those who are not good because they can help you learn, or value good people because they can serve as your example, then even if you consider yourself wise, you remain deeply deluded. Returning to simplicity: this is the profound and subtle principle.

“De” means putting the Dao into practice in everyday life without leaving fixed traces for others to follow. The Dao is transmitted through words and received by the heart-mind; it is clear and free of blemish, needing nothing from outside. To respond to the moment and grasp things without relying on calculations or schemes may be called skillful planning. To have no bolt, yet leave nothing that can open the door, may be called skillful closing. To have no rope or cord, yet leave nothing that can undo the knot, may be called skillful binding. This is the Dao of Wuwei (non-action) and stillness.

Thus, the sage is always able to help people. Each person has a Dao of their own, so no one is cast aside. The sage is also able to help all things. Each thing has a Dao of its own, so nothing is cast aside. This is called people and things receiving and inspiring one another: the great Dao of Heaven and Earth. The good take the not-good as a mirror; the not-good take the good as their teacher. Thus both the good and the not-good can gain something. The teacher is neither specially revered nor the one who serves as a mirror especially favored. In this way, neither people nor things are abandoned. The wise may become confused again, and the confused may come to understand again. This is the essential principle of the wondrous Dao.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Knowing the Masculine

Know the masculine, yet hold to the feminine, and you will become the valley of the world. As the valley of the world, your constant De will never depart, and you will return at last to the child’s state of pure innocence. Know what is bright, yet hold to what is dark, and you will become the model for the world. As the model for the world, your constant De will never go astray, and you will return at last to the boundless, unlimited state. Know glory, yet hold to disgrace, and you will become the valley of the world. As the valley of the world, your constant De will be full, and you will return at last to uncarved simplicity.

When the whole of uncarved simplicity is divided, it becomes the various vessels. The sage makes use of these vessels and becomes the leader of the people. Thus, great governance does not divide the whole.

The Jing (classic) says: Know the masculine, yet hold to the feminine, and you will become the valley of the world. Hold to the feminine and become the valley, and your constant De will never depart. When De is in accord and does not depart, you can become the valley of the world. As the valley of the world, your constant De will be full, and you will return at last to uncarved simplicity. When the whole of uncarved simplicity is divided, it becomes the various vessels. The sage makes use of them and becomes the leader of the people. Thus, great governance does not divide the whole.

Knowing what is strong and prominent, yet keeping to what is soft and yielding, is like being a valley in the world: it stays low and can hold all things. Maintain this soft, humble state, and constant De (Virtue/Power) will not be lost. When De is not lost, one can return to the pure gentleness of an infant.

Knowing what is bright and conspicuous, yet keeping to what is dark and hidden, makes one a model for the world. Hold to the hidden, and constant De will not go astray. When De does not go astray, one can return to the state of the Wújí (the undifferentiated, boundless origin).

Knowing what is glorious, yet keeping to what is low and disgraced, is like being a valley in the world: empty, yet able to hold all things. Hold to what is low and disgraced, and De will become full. When De is full, one can return to the Uncarved Block (the state of original nature, untouched by refinement). When the Uncarved Block is divided, it becomes the many particular things. The sage puts it to use and thereby becomes the foundation that governs all things. Thus, perfected governance does not divide things from their true nature; to divide them is to damage the Uncarved Block.

The explanation of the Dao says: Knowing what is strong while holding to what is soft means that Qian (the hexagram representing Heaven and strength in the Changes) knows the beginning of all things, while Kun (the hexagram representing Earth and yieldingness) brings all things into being. Thus one can become a valley in the world. The Way of Earth does not claim credit for bringing things to completion, yet brings all things to their end; hence it is said that constant De is not lost. At the winter solstice, Yang Qi (vital energy) first arises, and the vitality symbolized by the Fu, Kan, and Zhen hexagrams appears. Hence it is said to return to the state of an infant, which means recognizing and returning to the Uncarved Block.

Knowing what is bright while holding to what is hidden means striving in the Qian hexagram and laboring in the Kan hexagram, like Metal and Water generating one another. Thus one can become a model for the world. The Twelve Ruling Hexagrams, arranged according to the waxing and waning of Yin-Yang and symbolizing changes in the seasons, drive the generation of all things; hence it is said that constant De does not go astray. In the tenth month, the Kun hexagram is pure Yin and all things are stored away; thus one returns to Wújí.

Knowing what is flourishing while holding to what is low and disgraced means that the alternation of the Pi and Tai hexagrams marks the beginning of gain and loss, prosperity and decline. Thus one can become a valley in the world. The changes of the Li hexagram end at the hour of Yin, and those of the Kan hexagram end at the hour of Shen; hence it is said that De becomes full. Within the end lies the beginning, and so one returns to the Uncarved Block. What is above physical form is called the Dao; what is below physical form is called a vessel. Hence it is said that when the Uncarved Block is divided, it becomes particular things. The sage dwells at the center and holds to what is correct, becoming the master of all things; thus perfected governance does not divide things. Returning to the Uncarved Block means tracing things back to their beginning and returning to their end.

“Know the masculine, yet hold to the feminine” means knowing the firm and strong side while holding to the soft and yielding side. In the language of alchemy, this means using Wood to overcome Metal and Mercury to regulate Lead, allowing Metal and Wood, Mercury and Lead, to balance and restrain one another until their two Qi merge as one. This is why it is called “the stream of the world.” In this way, constant De will not be lost, and one can nurture a state of pure harmony like that of an infant.

“Know the white, yet hold to the black” means understanding what is outwardly revealed while holding to what is inward: taking another’s revealed “white” as primary while keeping to one’s own “black.” This is why it is called “the pattern of the world”—the world’s rule and model. Then constant De will not stray, and one will ultimately return to the Limitless, the boundless, undifferentiated source. Ten months is the Way of Kun, symbolizing the Earth and the feminine way of yielding and giving birth.

“Know honor, yet hold to disgrace” means knowing glory while willingly staying low and accepting humiliation. Glory belongs to Metal; disgrace belongs to Wood. If constant De is insufficient, one sees only the glory of Metal. But if one can hold to the disgrace of Wood, this is called “the valley of the world,” like a valley that lies low and welcomes all. Then constant De can become abundant, and one can return to the Uncarved Block, the natural state untouched by shaping.

Once the Uncarved Block is divided, it becomes the various implements; none stands above the eldest son in governing them—here, the one who holds the leading position. Thus, when the sage makes use of the Uncarved Block, the sage can become the leader of all. Great governance does not divide the whole: divided, it becomes the myriad things; gathered together, it returns to oneness. How wondrous its transformations are!

Chapter Twenty-Nine: If One Wishes to Take the World

If one wishes to take the world and govern it by force, I believe this cannot be done. The world is a wondrous vessel that cannot be acted upon at will. Those who force their way will fail; those who insist on holding it will lose it. Among the myriad things in the world, some go ahead and some follow; some are warm and gentle, while others blow and disperse; some are strong and flourishing, while others are weak and declining; some bear steadily, while others topple and break. Therefore, the sage casts off extremes, extravagance, and excess.

The scripture explains: If one wishes to take the world and act upon it by force, I believe this cannot ultimately be done. The world is a wondrous vessel that cannot be acted upon at will; forceful action is sure to fail, and insistence on holding it is sure to bring loss. The myriad things in the world each differ: some go ahead and some follow, each in its own time; some are warm and gentle, while others blow and disperse, each with its own breath; some are strong and flourishing, while others are weak and declining, each with its own momentum; some bear, while others destroy, each following its own course. Therefore, the sage casts off extremes, extravagance, and excess.

To assist a ruler through the Dao, one must govern the world without intervening recklessly. If a ruler insists on taking deliberate action, it becomes harder to govern the world well.

The ancients were able to govern the world because they followed the Dao. All things have their own timing, tendencies, circumstances, and principles: some advance while others follow; some are warmed and nourished while others are blown upon; some grow strong while others weaken; some bear up while others collapse. For this reason, the sage removes excess, extravagance, and arrogance, and does not let matters reach the point of necessity, failure, or loss of control.

Heaven holds the world as a person holds the body. In governing the world, there are times to follow things as they are and times when action is appropriate. To insist on forcing things is often a sign that there is no other choice. What is more, the world is like a sacred vessel entrusted by Heaven; it must not be handled carelessly. Forcing action leads to failure, while insisting on control leads to loss.

The sage casts aside excess, extravagance, and arrogance. Is this not because the sage has no selfish aims? Precisely by harboring no selfish aims, the sage is able to fulfill what is sought.

“Assisting a ruler through the Dao” means using the Dao to aid a ruler. It is the chapter title of Chapter 30 of the Dao De Jing.

Those who assist a ruler by following the Dao (the Way) do not use military force to dominate the world, since such actions invite retaliation. Wherever an army has passed, thorns and brambles grow; after a great war, years of famine often follow. Those skilled in assisting a ruler seek only to accomplish things in accordance with the Dao. They do not dare rely on force to prevail. Once their task is done, they do not boast, praise themselves, or grow arrogant. They resort to force only when they have no other choice. Even if they win out of necessity, they do not use their victory to assert their strength. When things reach the height of their power, they grow old; this is called departing from the Dao. What departs from the Dao soon perishes.

The scripture explains: Those who assist a ruler by following the Dao do not use military strength to seize control of the world, because armed conquest invites retaliation. Where an army has been stationed, thorns and brambles will grow; after a great war, famine often follows. Those skilled in assisting a ruler seek only to accomplish things in accord with the Dao. They do not dare rely on force to win. When their task is done, they do not boast or grow arrogant. Even when compelled to fight and victorious, they do not assert their strength. This is what it means not to rely on force. When things reach the height of their power, they grow old; this is what it means to depart from the Dao. Once we know something has departed from the Dao, we should put an end to it promptly.

The Dao says: Ministers and nobles should assist the ruler through moral principle, not flaunt their strength over the world by force. The ruler should assist Heaven and Earth through the Dao, not harm the myriad things through tyranny.

The Tai hexagram says, “When the Qi of Heaven and Earth intermingles, there is peace and flourishing.” Thus the sage kings of antiquity governed the world in accordance with the Dao of Heaven and Earth. They helped the myriad things each find what was fitting for them, thereby supporting the people. Those who attain the Dao receive much support; those who lose the Dao receive little. When support gathers to its fullest, all under Heaven will turn toward that ruler. When support dwindles to its lowest, even the ruler’s own kin will turn away. Set the allegiance of all under Heaven against a regime abandoned even by its own kin, and a noble person can prevail without fighting, or will surely prevail if battle comes. This is not the result of flaunting military strength.

If one seeks to dominate the world by force, that force will inevitably rebound. Wherever an army goes, brambles grow; great calamities follow, and the people turn away. Set the allegiance of all under Heaven against a regime that has lost the support of its own kin, and a noble person can prevail without fighting, or will surely prevail if battle comes—not by relying on military strength. If one seeks to dominate through force, calamity will in time return to oneself. Places where armies have been stationed often lie barren, and famine follows great wars. This is the result of Heaven’s Dao, which turns and returns.

The Lin hexagram has two Yang lines, and its text warns of danger in the eighth month. This aptly shows that after flourishing reaches its peak, decline follows. Therefore, those skilled in warfare seek only to act in accordance with what is right and achieve an appropriate outcome; they do not dare flaunt their strength through military force, for such displays inevitably end in defeat. Even when they achieve their aim, they do not boast, claim credit, or grow arrogant; they act only when compelled. This is achievement without flaunting strength. Why? Because when things grow strong to the extreme, they grow old. This is contrary to the Dao. Knowing that flaunting strength goes against the Dao, it is better to stop early.

“Virtue” here refers to the ruler’s conduct; “the ruler” takes the mind as its master. To govern the mind by the Dao, one should prize calmness and detachment, and never presume to conquer the world through an army that has defeated other states. The sun shines on all things and helps them grow, but it also gives rise to desire in people. As desire grows, people are more likely to turn to conflict. Thus, when Heaven reveals its impulse to kill, dragons and snakes appear on land; when people reveal their intent to kill, Heaven and Earth seem to turn upside down. Things must follow this cycle, and in the end there is retribution.

Heaven trembles and Earth shakes; mountains collapse and valleys split; trees topple; rivers dry up and seas run dry. Does this not show that wherever armies are stationed, brambles spring up? After a great war, there will surely be years of famine. This is truly frightening. Thus, those skilled in warfare act only in accordance with the Dao. If they take the Dao as their standard, why would they still force victory through strength? They do not boast, claim credit, or act with pride; they treat the use of arms as something they have been driven to do. This is how one can win without flaunting strength. Why is this so? When strength is exercised while remaining in a humble position, it can be preserved. Strength used without restraint is like a ram butting a fence with its horns and becoming trapped. When things grow powerful and do not know when to stop, they begin to decline. This is called being out of accord with the Dao. Once you understand that this is not the Dao, you should stop at once and do no more.

“Fine Weapons” Chapter, Thirty-One

Fine weapons are instruments of ill omen, and people generally abhor them. Those who follow the Dao therefore do not rely on them in daily life. In ordinary times, the gentleman honors the left; when using arms, he honors the right. Weapons are instruments of ill omen, not tools for a gentleman to use. They should be employed only when there is no other choice, and with an attitude of calmness and detachment. One should not celebrate victory in battle. To treat victory as an occasion for glory is to take pleasure in killing people. Those who take pleasure in killing cannot realize their aims in the world.

For this reason, auspicious occasions honor the left, while occasions of mourning and ill fortune honor the right. The deputy general stands on the left and the supreme commander on the right: this means that the arrangement of a military force should follow the rites of mourning. When many people have been killed, one should respond with sorrow and weeping. Thus, even after victory, one should conduct oneself according to the rites of mourning.

The Jing says: To regard weapons as fine and precious is to regard them as objects of ill omen. People generally abhor them, so those who follow the Dao do not place themselves among those who rely on them. The gentleman therefore honors the left in ordinary times, since the left symbolizes life; in war, he honors the right because warfare should be treated as the conduct of a funeral.

The Jing also says: To regard weapons as fine and precious is to regard them as instruments of ill omen.