《道德真经全解(时雍)》

The Complete Explanation of the True Classic of the Dao and Its Virtue says that many people have written commentaries on the Classic of the Dao and Its Virtue, but most merely explain it chapter by chapter and sentence by sentence. They fail to connect its meaning from beginning to end and often mix in subjective conjecture. As a result, the subtle intent of Laozi remains unclear, leaving readers at a loss.

Later, an acquaintance whose name is unknown traveled from Hua to Zhending and then returned to Bo. He brought out the Complete Explanation of the Dao and showed it to the author of this preface. After studying it carefully, the author’s old doubts suddenly fell away. He felt that the book’s principles were consistent within and across its parts, and flowed coherently from beginning to end. Its insights far surpassed those of ordinary people and could not be fathomed through worldly learning. He believed that the book had likely come from a transcendent immortal or perfected sage, who, moved by compassion for the people and a wish to enlighten the unenlightened, had clarified profound and mysterious principles. Unwilling to keep the book to himself, the author gathered friends and others who cared about the matter, raised funds to carve printing blocks, and had it printed so that it could circulate widely.

The preface is signed “Xiaoyao of Shiyong in Bo,” and was written in the first month of the fourth year of the Zhenglong era under the Jin dynasty (1159). The phrase “the five thousand words of the Primordial Origin” refers to the Classic of the Dao and Its Virtue; “uncovering the mysterious depths” means revealing its profound principles. “Good at lending and bringing to completion” comes from Laozi and refers to the Great Dao’s ability to give generously and bring all things to fulfillment.

The upper volume is titled “Chapter One: ‘The Dao that can be spoken.’” It contains the commentary on the first chapter of the Classic of the Dao and Its Virtue.

If the Dao (the fundamental principle from which all things in Heaven and Earth arise and by which they operate) can be spoken of, it is not the constant, unchanging Dao. If a name can be fixed and defined, it is not a constant, unchanging name. The nameless is where Heaven and Earth begin; the named is the source from which the myriad things arise. By remaining free of desire, one can perceive the Dao’s subtlety; by having desire, one can observe its manifestations and limits. These two arise from the same source, though they have different names. Both may be called deep and mysterious. Within the mysterious lies yet deeper mystery: the gateway to the many subtle principles.

The Dao is originally empty and natural. Only by following what is natural can it remain constant; if one imposes rules on what it should be, it ceases to be natural. “Dao” itself is a name imposed by necessity—how could it truly express all that the Dao is? Wherever something can be defined, there is also something opposite to it, which cannot be defined in the same way. Heaven can be Heaven, but cannot be Earth; Earth can be Earth, but cannot be Heaven. Their positions above and below differ, as do their shapes, round and square. Heaven and Earth thus divide out from the Dao’s root. This is the Dao that can be spoken of and named, but it is not the constant Dao. The Dao spreads out to become rivers and gathers to become mountains; it gives rise to birds and beasts that fly and run, and to plants that flower and bear fruit. In this way, the myriad things arise as the root unfolds into its branches. They can therefore be named, but their names are not constant.

The constant Dao is the state in which Yin-Yang has not yet separated and all is still one. With the emergence of “One,” there is already a kind of source, but no concrete form; it cannot be named. That is why the nameless is called the beginning of Heaven and Earth. Constant names, by contrast, arise only after Yin-Yang has divided and Heaven and Earth have taken shape. Only after Heaven and Earth are formed do the myriad things arise, which is why the named is called their mother.

Only the Way of Heaven can be called “constant nonbeing.” To embody the Way of Heaven is to be free of desire and practice Wuwei (non-action); to embody the Way of Earth is to refrain from reckless action and remain steadfast in stillness. When people integrate the ways of Heaven and Earth within themselves and attain a harmonious, balanced Qi, they can realize what is good. The greatest beauty is difficult to describe and difficult to name. Those who would govern the world and bring peace to the people should also model themselves on the ways of Heaven and Earth. When those in positions of authority have no selfish desires, the people become simple and tranquil, naturally influenced by them. Such goodness cannot be fully expressed. This Dao is pure and unadorned: though it may be named as best one can, words cannot express it completely. In this way, one can accord with the true, constant Dao.

“To remain constantly free of desire and observe its subtlety” means to remain still and refrain from reckless action. When the mind does not move recklessly, the body can return to upright balance and the spirit does not become scattered; then the subtlety of the constant Dao can appear. The subtle principles are still and unmoving by nature, yet they enable the transformations of the myriad things to proceed without end. Cultivating oneself without falling into error and finding peace within are also in accord with this. In Daoism, “penetrating the truth and guarding the One” means discerning the true Dao and holding fast to oneness. Its subtle principle is nameless by nature, yet it can manifest. It is like a state with a ruler: if the ruler has no excessive appetites and the people no excessive desires, the social customs will be honest and simple, free from superficiality and corruption. Therefore, one should remain constantly free of desire and perceive the Dao’s subtlety.

If one can embody the Way of Earth and wishes to return to the original root, one can observe the Dao’s limits through the visible things one encounters every day. Nonbeing and being are both aspects of the way of Heaven and Earth. Since Heaven and Earth both arise from the One, they are said to come from the same source, though their names differ. Although their names are distinct, their essence is equally deep and mysterious. The mysterious can be divided into red and black: Qian belongs to red, Kun to black; both are hidden deep within. The way of Heaven and Earth encompasses the primordial Qi, which is why it is called “mystery upon mystery”—that is, the “Great Brahma,” the vast source realm described in Daoism.

Within Heaven, the Heaven above Heaven presides over and governs the body’s Niwan (the spirit palace within the head) and Jiangong (the spirit palace within the heart), harmonizing the Five Qi and bringing the spirits together. The many subtle principles enter and emerge from there, which is why it is called the “gate of the many mysteries.” By remaining still, guarding the One, and preserving the spirit while abiding in Xuandu (the mysterious realm of the Dao), one can draw near to the constant Dao.

Everyone in the world knows what beauty is; once the idea of beauty takes shape, ugliness appears alongside it. Everyone knows what goodness is; once the idea of goodness takes shape, what is not good appears alongside it. Thus being and nonbeing depend on each other for their emergence; difficult and easy reveal themselves in contrast; long and short become clear through comparison; high and low are established in relation to each other; musical notes harmonize by combining with one another; and what comes before is followed by what comes after.

Therefore, the sage handles affairs by following what is natural and not forcing things, and teaches without relying on words. The myriad things arise and grow, and the sage does not reject them. The sage nurtures them without claiming them, acts without relying on their own ability, and completes the work without taking credit for it. Because the sage does not claim credit, the achievement does not disappear.

In the original text, a passage from earlier is repeated after “the myriad things arise.” The translation above interprets it once, in keeping with its meaning.

Beauty and goodness are both part of the natural way of Heaven and Earth, and everyone in the world knows this. Yet once something is deemed “beautiful,” its opposite, ugliness, appears alongside it; once something is deemed “good,” its opposite, what is not good, appears as well. Why does this happen? Heaven and Earth bring forth the forms of the myriad things, each of which originally has its own beauty. But all things are born and die: what is wondrous may become foul, and things undergo repeated change. Thus some forms come to be regarded as ugly and repugnant. Heaven and Earth endow people with minds, and each person is originally capable of goodness. But people have wisdom and can discern things externally, so situations arise in which, for example, “a great grievance may be reconciled, yet some resentment will remain.” Once goodness is distinguished and defined, what is not good appears too.

Clinging to judgments about what is beautiful or good does not accord with Wuwei (non-action): following nature without forcing things. Beauty and ugliness, goodness and what is not good, arise and recede in turn, transform into one another, and often move toward their opposites as each becomes apparent. The following pairs illustrate this: being and nonbeing give rise to one another, departing from the ordinary condition of the Dao, which is formless and traceless. It is precisely the contrast between being and nonbeing that allows difficulty and ease to complement one another. Long and short reveal one another by contrast, departing from the natural state of the way of Earth, which has no bounds or corners. It is precisely through measures of length that high and low incline toward one another. Sounds answer one another, departing from the natural state of the way of Heaven, which is silent. It is precisely through the combination of different sounds that one voice leads and another follows, answering one another.

The sage understands that beauty and ugliness transform into one another, and knows that distinctions between goodness and what is not good bring many entanglements. So the sage observes the natural way of Heaven and Earth and acts through Wuwei, teaching the people without relying on words. Because the sage practices wordless teaching, the myriad things grow naturally, and the sage does not interfere. In this way, the sage is like one who holds a tally: keeping the proof of a claim but making no demand of others. Who, then, could be judged not good? This is the principle of goodness that everyone in the world knows. Because the sage acts through Wuwei, nurturing the myriad things without possessing them, acting without relying on those actions, and completing the work without claiming credit, the myriad things are left to follow their own nature, without the intrusion of private motives. What, then, could be regarded as repugnant? This is the principle of beauty that everyone in the world knows.

Because the sage does not interfere with the growth of the myriad things, they are left to emerge naturally. The sage nurtures them without possessing them. The myriad things are left to act on their own; though the sage acts, the sage does not rely on those actions. Even when something is accomplished, the sage does not claim the credit. Nurturing without possessing is the way of Earth; acting without relying on one’s actions is the way of Heaven; completing the work without claiming credit is the constant Dao. When these three principles are put into practice without taking credit, external things cannot make the merit depart. Thus it is said: precisely because merit is not claimed, it does not disappear.

Chapter 3: Do Not Exalt the Worthy

When the worthy are not exalted, the people will not contend with one another. When rare and precious goods are not prized, the people will not steal. When things that easily stir desire are not displayed, people’s hearts will not be thrown into confusion. Therefore, when the sage governs the world, he keeps people’s hearts empty and still and their bellies full. He weakens their ambition to outdo one another and strengthens their bones and sinews. He constantly ensures that the people have few cunning thoughts and desires, and that even those who consider themselves wise dare not act recklessly. If one follows Wuwei (non-action, a way of governing without unwarranted interference), nothing will remain poorly governed.

The so-called worthy bring fame, while precious goods bring profit. Exalt the worthy, and the people will contend for fame; prize goods, and thieves will multiply. Nothing people pursue stirs desire more than fame and profit. Not exalting the worthy and not prizing precious goods means not displaying things that provoke desire. When such things are not displayed, people’s spirits can remain within their bodies. How, then, could their hearts be thrown into confusion?

Thus, when the sage does not exalt the worthy, he models himself on Heaven’s Dao, which acts without intention; when he does not prize precious goods, he models himself on Earth, which covets nothing. Following Heaven’s example keeps people’s hearts empty and still; following Earth’s example ensures that the people have enough to eat and wear. When the heart is still, the ambition to outdo others naturally weakens; when the belly is full, the bones and sinews naturally grow strong. In this way, the people can constantly be kept free of cunning thoughts and desires. Even those of exceptional intelligence are restrained by the sage and dare not act recklessly. This is what it means to follow Wuwei: nothing will remain poorly governed.

Chapter 4: The Emptiness of the Dao

The Dao seems empty, yet its use never runs dry. It is deep and boundless, as though it were the source of all things. It blunts sharp edges, untangles confusion, dims its radiance, and mingles with the world. It is profound and hidden: seemingly present, yet difficult to grasp. I do not know whose offspring it is; it seems to have existed before the Lord of Heaven.

The Dao moves through Heaven and Earth and works through Wuwei, which is why it is said to be “empty.” “Empty” means hollow, yet able to contain all things. And yet what is most full appears instead to be empty, because it can …

The Dao (the Way) can encompass all things. It therefore seems empty, yet also appears to be everywhere. On earth, the Dao takes stillness as its nature, and so is deep, remote, and hard to fathom. All things depend on it to grow, yet do not know where they come from. Thus the Dao seems to be the source of all things.

If one can follow the way of Heaven and remain empty, calm, and untroubled, one can blunt one’s sharpness. If one follows the way of Earth and remains deep and still, one can dispel turmoil. By blunting one’s sharpness, one can be in harmony above with the light without dazzling; this may be called the Dao at work in Heaven. By dispelling turmoil, one can dwell below among the dust of the world without being stained; this may be called the Dao at work on Earth. The Dao runs through Heaven and Earth: empty and still, yet deep, quietly abiding within them. Though said to endure forever, it seems to exist in Heaven and also to exist on Earth. Hence it is said to be “as if present, as if absent.” Since the Primordial Aeon—the remote age at the beginning of the cosmos—the Dao’s origin has been unknown, yet it brought forth the heavens. It is therefore called “before the image of the emperors,” meaning that it existed before the Heavenly Emperor.

Chapter Five: Heaven and Earth Are Not Benevolent

Heaven and Earth have no partiality: they regard the myriad things as straw dogs, the grass figures used in sacrifice and discarded afterward. The sage, too, has no partiality and regards the people as straw dogs. Is not the space between Heaven and Earth like a bellows? It is empty within, yet does not collapse; when set in motion, it sends forth an unceasing flow of air. Too many words often lead to exhaustion. It is better to hold fast to the emptiness and stillness within.

“Seven” refers to the human heart. “Not benevolent” means being habitually free of intention and attachment, without favoritism. Precisely because one does not cling to private feelings, one may in practice care for and benefit others without being burdened by thoughts of caring or benefiting them. This is the meaning of Heaven and Earth, and the sage, treating all things like straw dogs, without partiality. Empty talk in excess can lead to difficulty; it is better to hold fast to the heart within.

The “heart” refers to a person’s thoughts and intentions. If one can refrain from holding partial or selfish thoughts, one can remain free of fixed intentions. Precisely because one is free of such intentions, one may in practice offer care and benefit without becoming entangled in the acts of caring and benefiting. This is why Heaven and Earth, and the sages, regard all things and the people as straw dogs—dogs woven from straw for use in ritual.

A straw dog is made for use in a sacrifice: when the time comes, it is put to use, so it serves its purpose; once the rite is over, it is discarded, so it does not become a burden. The space between Heaven and Earth is empty like a valley because it has no private intention and is hollow within, like a bellows. A bellows must be empty to hold air; once it holds air, it responds to being worked, and the flow of air pours out without end. It operates without selfish intent, so it does not run dry; the more it moves, the more air it produces.

If one acts on one’s own private impulse before anything outside has prompted a response, one is liable to say too much and become entangled, and so often reaches a point of exhaustion. If one can understand the state of Heaven and Earth, free of fixed intentions, and hold to the way of emptiness, stillness, and calm detachment, allowing one’s spirit to reach its natural state, then one will respond when moved. What could then be exhausted?

Chapter Six: The Valley Spirit Never Dies

The Valley Spirit—the wondrous Dao that is empty yet gives rise to transformation—never perishes. This is called the Mysterious Female, the deep and generative maternal source of all things. The gate of the Mysterious Female is the root of Heaven, Earth, and all things. It continues without interruption, seeming to exist yet remaining elusive; when put to use, it is never depleted.

People know the valleys among mountains, rivers, lakes, and marshes, but do not know what is meant by “the valley of all under Heaven”: it is Heaven and Earth. Heaven and Earth have no private intent and are hollow within, taking on the form of a valley. They can continually bring forth and transform the myriad things, and so are called supremely wondrous. As for the wondrous Dao, when it is moved, it responds and reaches everywhere.

People know only the valleys among mountains, forests, lakes, and marshes. They do not know that what is called the “valley of all under Heaven” refers to Heaven and Earth. Heaven and Earth have no private interests. Their center is empty, and their form resembles a valley. They can continually bring forth and transform the myriad things; this is called “the utmost spirit.” Only the wondrous Dao responds when it is touched and gives a fitting answer, just as a valley, because it is empty, can echo a sound. Hence it is called the “Valley Spirit.”

Yet the one that gives birth to the myriad things does not deliberately set out to give birth to them, and the one that transforms them does not deliberately set out to transform them. Precisely for this reason, it can endure, so the text says, “The Valley Spirit does not die.” Heaven can continually bring forth the myriad things by means of the “mysterious” (the profound and subtle Qi); Earth can continually nurture and transform them by means of the “feminine” (the receptive, nurturing aspect). Hence the term “Mysterious Feminine.” Does the Mysterious Feminine refer to Yin-Yang? Before Yin and Yang harmonize and divide, how could there be any distinction between Heaven and Earth? Heaven and Earth arise only after Yin and Yang separate, and from them Heaven and Earth are born and set in motion. Thus the “gate of the Mysterious Feminine” is the source of Heaven and Earth.

The source of Heaven and Earth existed before they took form and has remained so from ancient times to the present. That is why the text says it is “continuous, as though it exists”: it extends without end, seeming to exist yet remaining hard to grasp. It responds only after being touched; it does not act ahead of the myriad things. What strain could it undergo? Hence the text says, “Use it and it is never exhausted”: its use does not wear it out.

This is how the Dao operates between Heaven and Earth. Human beings, too, have a form that resembles Heaven and Earth, and so the body has a corresponding “Niwan” (an inner-cultivation site around the brain and crown of the head). Niwan is the Valley Spirit within the human body, also called “Mount Kunlun.” Within it is the “one-inch-square Dantian” (a place within the body where Jing and Qi are cultivated), which connects to the seven apertures and is called the “Heavenly Valley.” A spirit-being dwells within it. The Dantian is round inside, corresponding to Heaven, and square outside, corresponding to Earth; it also embodies the meaning of the Mysterious Feminine. The thirty-five divisions gather together and govern the Qi of the Upper Origin; this is called the “root of Heaven.” Those who recognize and cultivate the Dao within themselves can live forever and stand alongside Heaven and Earth.

“The Chapter on Heaven’s Enduring and Earth’s Lasting,” section seven

Heaven and Earth endure because they do not strive for their own survival; for this very reason, they endure. The sage follows their example: by placing himself last, he comes to the fore; by not making his own interests paramount, he preserves himself. Is it not precisely because he is selfless that he ultimately fulfills himself?

The Dao gives rise to the myriad things but seeks nothing for itself. Heaven and Earth follow the Dao and so endure. They seek nothing for themselves and are therefore without selfish intent. The sage follows Heaven and Earth and so fulfills himself; by fulfilling himself, he can come to the fore and preserve himself.

“To place oneself last” means not competing with the myriad things to be first. “Not making oneself paramount” means nurturing the spirit and keeping it settled. This is what it means to follow the selflessness of Heaven and Earth. Heaven may seem to favor the myriad things, yet its workings extend everywhere and are impartial. Perhaps this is how its nature is expressed?

Chapter Eight: The Highest Good Is Like Water

The highest good is like water. Water excels at nourishing the myriad things, yet does not contend with them. It dwells in low places that people all despise, and so is closest to the Dao.

In choosing where to dwell, seek what is fitting; in your heart, be still as a deep pool; in dealing with others, be kind; in speaking, keep your word; in governing, bring order; in your work, make the most of your abilities; in your actions, seize the right moment. Because you do not contend, you incur no fault.

Water’s nature, when unobstructed, becomes clear; when undisturbed, it becomes still. If it is dammed up and stagnant, it cannot become clear. This is a symbol of the De (Virtue/Power) of Heaven, which is why it is said, “The highest goodness is like water.”

Water nourishes all things without competing with them. It dwells in low places that people dislike, and so comes closest to the Dao (the Way). What follows uses water to illustrate principles of self-cultivation and conduct.

At ease in low places and quiet—that is why it is said, “In dwelling, goodness lies in the place.” Deep and vast, beyond measure—that is why it is said, “In the heart, goodness lies in depth.” Do these two resemble the Way of Earth, embodied in the nature of the land? Its beneficence extends to all things without favoritism—that is why it is said, “In giving, goodness lies in benevolence.” It passes through dangerous places without losing its natural constancy—that is why it is said, “In speech, goodness lies in trustworthiness.” Do these two resemble the Way of Heaven, embodied in the workings of Heaven and Earth? Clear-sighted within and peaceful in outward conduct—that is why it is said, “In governance, goodness lies in order.” Water moistens all things and adapts to the needs of different materials—that is why it is said, “In affairs, goodness lies in ability.” Do these two resemble the constant Dao, the principle that never changes?

Water is good at nourishing all things, and thus resembles the Way of Heaven and Earth, yet each of its functions is carried out with just the right measure. That is why it is said, “In action, goodness lies in timing”: action should accord with the moment. When action is timely and conduct is peaceful, governance can be orderly. Because water moistens and adapts to different materials, it can also meet the demands of its tasks. Such conduct accords with the Way of Heaven and Earth and is perfectly measured. What could a person who acts at the right time have to contend for? This is why such a person is without fault.

Chapter Nine: Holding and Filling

Holding a vessel until it is filled to the brim is not as good as stopping at the right point. Hammering and sharpening something until it is too keen makes it difficult to keep for long. No one can hold on forever to a hall filled with gold and jade. Pride and complacency after attaining wealth and honor only invite trouble. Once one’s accomplishments are complete and one’s name established, one should withdraw and retire; this accords with the Way of Heaven.

When things reach fullness, they cannot last long. Better not to seek fullness—why force yourself to hold on to it? Those who press ahead too fiercely soon fall back. Better to temper your sharpness—why rush to grasp what you want? A hall filled with gold and jade cannot be guarded forever; this is because it is already too full. After attaining wealth and status, pride and arrogance invite trouble; this is because one’s sharpness is too pronounced. These are the faults of fullness and sharpness, arising from the loss of the ways of compassion and frugality.

“Fullness” refers to the completion of achievements; “sharpness” refers to the prominence of one’s reputation. After achieving success and renown, only by knowing when to withdraw can one preserve what one has gained. If one becomes arrogant in wealth and status, one invites disaster. These faults of fullness and sharpness arise from losing the ways of compassion and frugality. After achieving success and renown, one should yield and withdraw. This is the pattern by which Yin and Yang wax and wane, fullness and depletion, advance and retreat. If one can keep to the ways of compassion and frugality, one will let go of achievement and reputation and return them to everyone. What, then, would there be to fear in fullness or excessive sharpness?

Chapter Ten: Carrying the Body and Soul

Can body and mind remain joined, holding to unity without separating? Can you concentrate on regulating the breath and soften the body until it is like that of an infant? Can you cleanse the depths of your heart of scattered thoughts and leave no blemish? Can you cherish the people and govern the state without acting recklessly? At the opening and closing of the Heavenly Gate, can you remain soft, still, and humble? Can you see clearly and understand all directions without thinking yourself wise? Let all things grow and nourish them without claiming them as your own; act without relying on your accomplishments; become the leader of all things without ruling over them. This is called “mysterious De”—profound and subtle virtue.

The body is the carriage that the spirit and soul ride in, and the corporeal soul (po) is attached to the body. The ethereal soul (hun) wanders back and forth, carrying the corporeal soul in and out. In this way, spiritual activity spreads outward and the mind inclines toward action. The Three Hun souls are therefore easily scattered, and the Po soul is difficult to settle. Only a sage can embody this mysterious De.

The body is the vehicle of Shen (spirit, the ruler of mental and vital activity), while the Po (the vital energy connected to the physical form) depends on the body for its existence. The Hun (the part that governs mental activity and can move in and out) drifts restlessly, carrying the Po with it. Shen then turns outward, and thoughts become busy with all kinds of activity. The Hun and Po are thus thrown into disorder, and body and mind lose their calm. Only the sage gathers Shen within and lets it dwell peacefully in the body, so that the Po will not follow the Hun in rushing outward. This is the foundation of nurturing life. Thus, “bearing the Hun and Po” means keeping them settled within the physical form.

The way of nourishing life is nothing other than cultivating Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen. If one can hold fast to the original unity, Jing will not stir recklessly. If one can be pure, gentle, and yielding like an infant, Qi will not become agitated and excessive. If one can clear away thoughts and worries, Shen will remain settled. This is how one understands and follows the Dao of Heaven and Earth.

There is more: understanding the Dao of Heaven makes Wuwei (non-action) possible. Caring for the people and governing the state should likewise aim at Wuwei. If one refrains from contrived action in caring for the people and governing the state, clears away distracting thoughts, and keeps the mind clear, then by practicing Wuwei oneself, the people will naturally return to a state of transformation and nurture.

Understanding the Dao of Earth allows one to remain yielding, like the female. “The gates of Heaven opening and closing” refers to the opening and closing movements of the breath and vital functions. In the face of these changes, one should remain yielding and avoid contention. If one can do so, concentrate Jing and Qi, bring body and mind to a gentle state, and remain calm day and night, one can cultivate the true self.

Understanding the constant Dao allows one to avoid attachment to worldly knowledge. Even with clear insight and broad understanding, one should maintain a state of unknowing and desirelessness. By doing so, one can draw in one’s gaze, turn back one’s hearing, keep Shen within, and hold fast to the original unity, becoming a model for all under Heaven.

Such a person has abundant Jing and Qi without depletion, a harmonious breath without agitation, and a clear, unblemished spirit. In this way, Dao and De (Virtue/Power) become one, and one enters a state of undifferentiated chaos, in communion with Heaven and Earth as they were at the beginning, before division.

Dao gives rise to the myriad things, and De nurtures them. The greatest virtue of Heaven and Earth is to bring forth and nourish the myriad things. The De spoken of here encompasses Heaven and Earth, yet is never separate from the Dao. Heaven belongs to the mysterious and distant; Earth belongs to the fields and soil, which is why the character for “nurture” contains the element “field.” The Dao of Earth brings forth and nurtures the myriad things without claiming them as its own; the Dao of Heaven accomplishes things through Wuwei without relying on its achievements; and the constant Dao generates and nurtures the myriad things without acting as their ruler.

These three principles are all embodied in the Niwan Palace at the crown of the head (a Neidan term for the upper Dantian in the head). This is what is called the De of Heaven. Heaven manifests as the mysterious and distant; Mysterious De is therefore the De of Heaven. The De of Heaven works through Wuwei. “Bearing the Hun and Po” works the same way: just as a carriage can carry a load only because of the empty space within it. Is this not De of Heaven?

Thirty spokes converge at a single hub, and it is precisely because the hub is hollow that the wheel can carry people. Clay is shaped and fired into vessels, and it is precisely because a vessel is empty inside that it can hold things. Doors and windows are cut into a house, and it is precisely because there is open space within that the house can be lived in. Thus, concrete “being” brings convenience, while empty “nonbeing” allows things to function.

People ride in a cart so that it can travel; they use a vessel because it can hold things; they live in a house so they have a quiet place to stay. Travel involves movement, staying involves stillness, and a vessel’s function lies between movement and stillness. The sage uses these three examples to explain the Dao. Look at them closely: each has a visible exterior and an empty interior. What has form is solid; the space within is empty. What has form brings convenience; the empty space lets it serve its purpose. People, too, can turn this insight back upon themselves.

“Being” is the body; “nonbeing” is the spirit. The spirit gives rise to the body, so the body depends on the spirit to function. The body takes shape and the spirit is formed, so the spirit also depends on the body to manifest. Without spirit, the body cannot grow by itself; without a body, the spirit cannot come to fulfillment. Body and spirit unite, giving rise to and fulfilling one another, and in this way the Dao can endure. Sadly, the spirit often cherishes people, while people do not cherish the spirit, and so life comes to an early end. Therefore, those skilled in self-cultivation quiet their thoughts and guard their spirit, keeping the heart-mind empty and still.

The five colors dazzle the eyes, the five tones dull the hearing, and the five flavors distort the palate. Giving free rein to horses and hunting throws the mind into turmoil; rare and precious goods hinder people’s conduct. For this reason, the sage attends to inner nourishment rather than chasing sensory pleasures, setting aside external temptations and choosing inner fulfillment.

What looks but cannot be seen is called “Yi” (the Subtle); this is the constant Dao (the Way). People cannot turn their gaze inward to observe themselves. Instead, they let the colors of the outside world disturb their eyes, and so they lose the Dao of the primordial beginning, and their spirit grows dim.

What is listened for but cannot be heard is called “Xi” (the Inaudible); this is the Dao of Heaven. People cannot turn their hearing inward and experience the stillness within. Instead, they let the sounds of the outside world disturb their ears, and so they lose the Dao of the great beginning, and their hearing grows dull.

What is touched but cannot be grasped is called “Wei” (the Imperceptible); this is the Dao of Earth. People cannot nourish their Qi (vital energy) and merge with Great Harmony, the state in which Yin-Yang is balanced. Instead, they concern themselves only with the tastes of food and drink, and so they lose the Dao of primordial purity, and their senses fall out of order.

These three disturbances all arise because the mind does not guard the “inch field,” meaning the inner spirit, and thoughts wander in every direction. That is why giving free rein to the senses and going hunting can make the spirit run wild. Once the mind is led about by external things, chasing profit and wasting its strength, cultivation is hindered. That is why rare goods obstruct a person’s conduct.

Thus, the sage does not cling to external knowledge but nurtures De (Virtue/Power) within. The sage fears that seeing desirable things will cause them to lose their nature among external objects. So they seek only to fill the belly and do not chase what delights the eyes. The eyes, ears, and mouth all harm life. Why single out the eyes? Of the nine bodily apertures, three are the key senses—the eyes, ears, and mouth—and their workings are governed chiefly by the eyes. Therefore, one should set aside the vanity that comes from looking outward and seek the fullness of inner De.

Chapter Thirteen: Favor and Disgrace

Favor and disgrace are alike in causing alarm. Regard great calamity as you regard your own self.

What does it mean that favor and disgrace alike cause alarm? To receive favor is to be in a lowly position. When granted favor, one is apprehensive; when it is withdrawn, one is apprehensive as well. This is what is meant by “favor and disgrace alike cause alarm.”

What does it mean to regard great calamity as you regard your own self? I have great calamity because I have a body. Once I no longer cling to myself, what calamity could there be? Therefore, only one who cherishes the world as they cherish their own self can be entrusted with the world; only one who cherishes their own self as they cherish the world can undertake the responsibility of governing it.

If one can value the world as highly as one values oneself, the world can be entrusted to that person. “Favor” and “disgrace” both arise when people act upon things and become constrained by them. Once the mind and spirit are stirred by external things, they can no longer rest securely within, and so become as unsettled as if startled.

What each person holds precious is the “De” (inner nature and moral character) within them. But if external things burden this De, attachment to oneself brings great trouble. This is the meaning of “great trouble is like the body.”

To receive favor is to be subject to another and placed beneath them; favor is often accompanied by disgrace. When favored, if one clings to that favor, one becomes anxious and apprehensive. When favor is lost, if one resists the loss, one becomes sorrowful. Constrained by external things and unable to keep one’s heart at rest, one becomes as unsettled as if startled.

The “I” here refers to the subject that governs the myriad things and stands above them; it is also an honorific for “De.” People suffer great trouble because they have a body, and thus their De is burdened by the body. Clinging to oneself and pursuing the world allows the body to burden the heart, and the heart to burden De. In the end, one loses the foundation for governing the myriad things; no trouble could be greater.

If one does not regard the world as something to possess, one can take emptiness and stillness as one’s own and avoid being burdened by attachment to oneself. This is “the body of one who has no body.” What trouble could there be? Ordinary people are confused about being and nonbeing and do not understand the principle of having no body, so the text goes on to explain it further.

To regard oneself as precious as the world is to entrust great responsibility to oneself. If one who has realized the Dao can accept the world’s trust, what trouble could there be? To regard oneself as worthy of love as the world is to entrust favor to oneself. If one who has attained the Dao can bear the world’s trust, what disgrace could there be?

When one understands that coming and going do not constitute a true “I,” one is no longer burdened by oneself. When the heart does not cling to the myriad things, one is not made proud by receiving favor. Thus, when a noble person has no choice but to govern the world, they treat it only as something temporarily entrusted to them. This is what it means not to claim the world as one’s own.

“Seeing It, One Does Not See It,” Chapter Fourteen

Because it cannot be seen when we look at it, it is called “Yi”; because it cannot be heard when we listen for it, it is called “Xi”; because it cannot be touched when we reach for it, it is called “Wei.” These three states cannot be pursued to a clear answer, and so they blend into one. Above, it is not bright; below, it is not dark. It stretches on without end and is difficult to name, yet in the end it returns to what has neither form nor substance. This is called “the shape without shape, the image without an object”—a state that is elusive and unfathomable. Look toward it, and you cannot see its beginning; follow it, and you cannot see its end. Grasp the Dao (the Way) that has existed since ancient times and use it to govern all that exists in the present. To know the original source of all things is to have grasped the guiding principle of the Dao.

The constant Dao is the beginning of the Great Beginning, and so it cannot be seen. The Way of Heaven is the beginning of the Great Origin, and so it cannot be heard. The Way of Earth is the beginning of the Great Simplicity, and so it cannot be touched. The Great Beginning, Great Origin, and Great Simplicity refer respectively to the initial stages before Qi (vital energy), the form of Heaven, and the substance of Earth came into being. These three are the sources of Qi, form, and substance. They cannot be pursued to their ultimate origin, and so they blend into one. “One” is the state in which Yin-Yang is harmonized but has not yet separated. Above, there is no gathered Yang Qi, so it is not bright; below, there is no condensed Yin Qi, so it is not dark. Yin and Yang come together, but cannot be adequately described by a single name. Thus it stretches on without end and cannot be named. Although it may be called Yin and Yang, they are not yet distinct, and so it returns to what has neither form nor substance.

“The shape without shape” means that the Way of Earth has not yet differentiated; “the image without an object” means that the Way of Heaven has not yet differentiated. Before the Ways of Heaven and Earth separated, Yin and Yang were joined and had not parted. This is called the elusive. Look toward it and you cannot see its beginning, so you cannot know where it came from; follow it and you cannot see its end, so you cannot know where it is going. To follow and make use of it, one can only grasp the Dao that has existed since ancient times and use it to govern everything that exists in the present. “Ancient” refers to the Ways of Heaven and Earth, while “everything that exists in the present” refers to concrete forms. If one can grasp the Ways of Heaven and Earth and use them to govern forms, those forms will naturally become orderly. “The ancient beginning” refers to “One,” the source of Heaven and Earth; hence it is called the guiding principle of the Dao.

Those in ancient times who were skilled in cultivating the Dao were subtle and mysterious, able to understand the Great Dao. They were so profound that no one could fathom them. Because they were so hard to fathom, one can only make a tentative attempt to describe them: cautious, as if crossing a river in winter; alert, as if wary of neighbors on every side; respectful, as if a guest; yielding, like ice beginning to melt; plain, like uncarved wood; open, like a valley; and deep, like murky water.

Who can still murky water and let it gradually become clear? Who can set what is at rest in motion and let it gradually come to life? Those who hold fast to the Dao do not seek fullness and completion. Because they do not seek to be full, they can wear down without rushing to renew themselves, and allow new things to form naturally.

Those in ancient times who were skilled in cultivating the Dao understood its subtle mysteries, knew the depths of the Way of Heaven, and discerned the fine details of the Way of Earth. They were therefore called “subtle, wondrous, profound, and penetrating.” Though they grasped these subtle and profound principles inwardly, they were outwardly difficult to fathom. To describe their outward manner, one can only say, with some hesitation, that they acted cautiously and responded to the moment, like someone crossing a river in winter; they were quiet and reserved, as though mindful of those around them; and they carried themselves with dignity, yet like a guest who does not presume to be the host. These three describe their outward bearing.

They seemed hesitant and cautious on the outside, yet inwardly were as open as an empty valley, without partiality. They seemed fearful on the outside, yet inwardly were simple and honest, free of desire. They seemed like guests on the outside, yet inwardly were as ice melting away, without a care. When the heart is like melting ice, simple and open as a valley, it joins with the Dao and becomes true; this is called “subtle, wondrous, profound, and penetrating.” When one is cautious, reverent, and humble in outward bearing, never putting oneself forward, this is called “deep and impossible to fathom.”

Even so, they lived among ordinary people and so appeared unformed and simple, as though muddied. Who can still the muddy waters and let them slowly clear? Who can set what is at rest into motion and let it gradually come to life? Only those who understand the profound principles and observe them closely can do this. Turbidity is the natural state of Earth; stillness is the way Earth operates. By following the Way of Earth, the muddy waters gradually clear, for Earth follows Heaven. Stillness is the natural state of Heaven; movement is the way Heaven operates. By following the Way of Heaven, things gradually come forth, for Heaven follows the Dao.

Only those skilled in cultivating the Dao can preserve it. They do not seek fullness or contentment; precisely because they are not self-satisfied, they can hold fast to what they have always had at their root and avoid forgetting their source in pursuit of new achievements.

Chapter Sixteen: Attaining Utmost Emptiness

Bring the mind to the utmost emptiness, and hold firmly to stillness without wavering. All things grow and change together; from this I observe how they return to their source. All things flourish in profusion. Only those skilled in cultivating the Dao can preserve it. They do not seek fullness or contentment; precisely because they are not self-satisfied, they can hold fast to what they have always had at their root and avoid forgetting their source in pursuit of new achievements.

Clear away the mind’s distracting thoughts to the utmost, and hold steadfastly to deep stillness. As the myriad things grow and change together, I observe how they return to their source. Though all things flourish, each in time returns to its root. Returning to the root is called stillness; stillness is a return to the nature of life. To return to one’s nature is to be constant. Only by knowing the constant can one be said to understand. Failing to know the constant, one acts rashly and brings calamity upon oneself. Knowing the constant makes one all-embracing; being all-embracing makes one impartial; being impartial makes one fit to be king; being king makes one accord with Heaven; and being in accord with Heaven makes one accord with the Dao. The Dao endures without cease. Follow it throughout your life, and you will not meet with danger.

Emptiness and stillness are the root of all things. Model yourself on Heaven’s function and bring your mind to utmost emptiness; model yourself on Earth’s nature and hold steadfastly to deep stillness. As all things grow together, the sage observes how they return to their source, understands the patterns that govern them, and uses this understanding to guide the people.

Plants and trees belong to the category of Earth: their roots are below and their branches and leaves above. They grow in stillness, following Earth’s pattern. Human beings belong to the category of Heaven: their roots are above and their branches and leaves below, so they should move in accordance with Heaven’s pattern. Though the myriad things flourish, each ultimately returns to its root. All things nurture one another, yet do not depend on one another; this root may be called the primal root. From it, one can also observe the Way of Heaven. Thus the sage says that blossoms must eventually bear fruit, and stems and leaves return to the root. This is like the Dao practitioner’s return to the ancestral source: the “Yellow Palace,” where this source resides, lies between the eyebrows. This is the meaning intended here.

Returning to the root is called stillness, for only through stillness can one model oneself on Earth’s nature and return to one’s original nature. Stillness is a return to the nature of life: when one grows still, the mind and spirit gradually become clear. Only with clarity can one experience Heaven’s function and return to the source of life.

The Great One, the source that governs the Dao of Heaven and Earth, presides over life, and its root lies in the Mudball Palace, a Neidan term for the spirit palace in the head. The Dao of Heaven and Earth returns to the One and gradually enters the Dao of True Constancy. Thus, to return to one’s original nature is to be constant. Knowing and holding to the constant gives rise to spirit and understanding; both come from the One, so knowing the constant is called clarity.

“Clarity” means Yin and Yang coming together and returning to the One. Not knowing the constant means abandoning the Dao of Heaven and Earth and giving rise to deluded thoughts. One is then swept along by external things, meets troubles at every turn, and ultimately loses the true Dao. This is why rash action brings misfortune.

Knowing the constant makes one able to embrace all things; this is to know the Dao of Heaven and Earth. Nothing lies beyond the embrace of Heaven and Earth, and they show no partiality; thus, being all-embracing makes one impartial. A ruler can fulfill the work of kingship only by modeling the impartial nature of Heaven and Earth; thus, impartiality makes one fit to be king. A ruler models the Dao of Heaven and Earth and accords with Heaven; thus, being king makes one accord with Heaven. Heaven returns to the One and is vast; thus, Heaven accords with the Dao. The Dao precedes Heaven and Earth and endures through the ages without end; thus, to accord with the Dao is to endure. Endurance is the Dao’s constant nature. Know and hold to the constant, and throughout your life you will not fall into danger.

The best rulers are those whom the people know simply as their ruler. The next best are those whom the people cherish and praise. Below them are those whom the people fear, and even scorn. When a ruler lacks trustworthiness, the people do not trust him. The best rulers are cautious and speak little; they do not issue commands lightly. When their work is done and their achievements complete, the people all say that everything happened of its own accord.

The Great Dao has no form. Yin and Yang mingle as one; from the One, Heaven and Earth arise, and from Heaven and Earth, the myriad things. All things take shape, emerging from what is formless. In ancient times, the best rulers governed the world by following nature and practicing Wuwei (non-action), embodying the De of Heaven. The people knew only that they had a ruler, yet felt that his power did not directly interfere in their lives. That is why it is said, “The best rulers are those whom the people know simply as their ruler.” This is like the Dao: formless and without trace.

The sages of the middle ages bestowed kindness on the people, who therefore cherished and praised them. That is why it is said, “The next best are those whom the people cherish and praise.” This runs counter to the Way of Heaven, which favors no one. Emperors in later ages made laws to restrain the people, who therefore feared them. That is why it is said, “Below them are those whom the people fear.” This runs counter to the Way of Earth, which has no selfish desires. After several more generations, laws multiplied, and deceit grew alongside them. Commands were issued layer upon layer, and deception followed in their wake; the people then began to scorn their rulers. This departed from the true principle of the kingly Way.

If rulers seek to win the people’s trust through laws, yet lack trustworthiness themselves, the people will never believe them. Thus, the best rulers of ancient times governed without relying on verbal instruction and valued speaking little. Once their work was done, the people all said that everything had happened naturally. In this way, there was no cherishing and praise, no fear and scorn, and no mutual distrust.

Chapter 18: When the Great Dao Declines

Only after the Great Dao declined did people advocate benevolence and righteousness. Only after cleverness and ingenuity appeared did serious hypocrisy arise. Only when family relations became discordant did acts of filial devotion and parental kindness become conspicuous. Only when the state fell into disorder did loyal ministers appear.

Why say that benevolence and righteousness arose only after the Great Dao declined? Benevolence can be practiced deliberately, and righteousness can be violated. These practices depart from the constant Dao of Wuwei, which is why it is said that the Great Dao declined. Why, then, say that serious hypocrisy arose only after cleverness and ingenuity appeared? When relations among family members become discordant, acts of filial devotion and parental kindness become conspicuous; when the state falls into disorder, loyal ministers become conspicuous.

Why did benevolence and righteousness appear after the Great Dao was abandoned? Because benevolence can be put into practice, and righteousness can be used to harm others. Once benevolence and righteousness depart from the Wuwei (non-action) of the natural constant Dao, this shows that the Great Dao has declined. Why did great hypocrisy appear after wisdom became prominent? What is called wisdom means knowing something; what is called discernment means observing something. These go against the Way of Heaven, which is knowing nothing and acting without effort, and so give rise to great falsehood. Why did filial devotion and parental love arise only when the six relationships—among parents and children, brothers, spouses, and other kin—were no longer harmonious? Filial devotion means that each person cherishes their own kin; parental love means that each person cares for their own children. These qualities became conspicuous because people departed from the Way of Earth, which is free of desire, and the six relationships consequently fell into discord. Why did loyal ministers arise only when the state was dark and chaotic? Seeing the political order in peril, they risked their lives to remonstrate, unafraid of death. Their integrity became visible because the proper course of kingship had been violated.

The Great Dao is formless and undifferentiated; it can neither be abandoned nor flourish. The Dao is no different in ancient times and today; people themselves cause it to decline. This, too, follows the transformations of Heaven and Earth and Yin-Yang. Yet when things reach their limit, they change; through change they become unobstructed, and through being unobstructed they endure. When the sage governs the world through the Dao, they accord with the number seven without relying on it, and esteem simplicity rather than accumulating outward displays of virtue. When the people return to their natural simplicity, cleverness fades. When people have no scheming thoughts, deceit and hypocrisy cease. When customs return to sincerity, filial devotion and parental love no longer need to be made conspicuous. When the ruler alone is upright, loyal ministers naturally follow. This is called the highest form of governance.

Chapter Nineteen: “Rejecting Sagehood and Abandoning Cleverness”

Abandon so-called sagehood and clever wisdom, and the people will gain a hundredfold. Abandon the vaunting of benevolence and righteousness, and the people will recover filial devotion and parental love. Abandon cunning and the pursuit of profit, and thieves will disappear. These three statements do not fully convey the meaning, so a guiding principle must also be given: reveal one’s unadorned nature, preserve simplicity, lessen selfishness, and reduce desire.

Does the Dao (the Way) decline and De (Virtue/Power) grow thin because people prize pleasing words? Because they compete in skills and chase cleverness? Because they blame one another and flaunt their claims to benevolence? Because they disturb De and exalt the name of righteousness? When people govern the world in ways that go against reason, they can no longer rest securely in the truth of their nature and life.

Therefore, the sage does not regard many talents and abilities as sagacity, nor governing the people as cleverness. Instead, the sage embodies Heaven’s Dao through unknowing and Wuwei (non-action). In this way, the benefit to the people can increase a hundredfold. The sage does not regard caring for all things as benevolence, nor establishing personal doctrines as righteousness. So the sage removes the display of benevolence and righteousness and embodies the Great Dao through Wuwei. Then filial devotion and compassion no longer need to be deliberately promoted; they appear naturally. The sage does not regard unusual things as skillful, nor wealth as a benefit. So the sage sets aside clever contrivances and the pursuit of gain, embodying Earth’s Dao through desirelessness. Then thieves will no longer arise.

If this is done, the people will return to their own nature and recover their original simplicity. Sagacity, benevolence and righteousness, cleverness and gain—these three adornments, imposed by human effort, damage what is genuine and cause people to lose their simple nature. They make the people feel that something is lacking, teach them to act against their nature, and disturb them until they become thieves. Precisely because adornments cannot govern the world, people must be given something to which they can return. Those who embody simple authenticity accord with the Dao of Heaven and Earth. The perceptive and discerning return to simplicity; as they return to simplicity, their selfish desires naturally diminish.

Those who embrace the uncarved simplicity—that is, who preserve what is simple and genuine—accord with the constant Dao. Therefore, Wuwei enables people to return to simplicity; as they return to simplicity, their desires naturally diminish.

Chapter Twenty: “Cutting Off Learning, No Worries.”

Discard learning and cleverness, and worries will cease. How great is the difference between the responses “yes” and “surely”? How far apart are good and evil? What people fear cannot simply go unfearing. The world stretches into the distance without end, seeming to have no bounds.

Everyone is cheerful and excited, as if attending a grand feast or climbing to a height to enjoy the spring scenery. I alone am quiet and restrained, showing no sign of joy, like an infant who has not yet learned to smile—unsettled and aimless, as though with nowhere to return. Everyone seems to have more than enough; I alone seem to have lost something. My mind is truly like that of a fool: simple and uncarved. People of the world appear clear-sighted and shrewd; I alone seem dull. They are discerning in every matter; I alone am slow and unresponsive. My mind is calm and open, deep and vast like the sea; it drifts without direction, seemingly without end. Everyone has some skill or resource to rely on; I alone seem stubborn, clumsy, and crude. I differ from everyone else: what I cherish is drawing nourishment from the “Mother.” Here, “Mother” means the source of all things—that is, the Dao (the Way).

Ornate expression conceals people’s original nature, and broad, varied learning unsettles their minds. The people then become confused and disordered, unable to return to their true nature and recover their original state. Thus sage-like wisdom becomes a fault, benevolence and righteousness create disorder, and cleverness and the pursuit of profit bring theft and chaos. To be rid of these ills, one should preserve simplicity and plainness, like a fool who does not resort to clever schemes. I differ from everyone else: what I cherish is drawing nourishment from the “Mother,” the source of all things.

Excessive pursuit of ornament conceals what is naturally plain; wide learning and abundant knowledge can cause the mind and spirit to sink into distraction. The people then become confused and unsettled, unable to return to their true nature and recover their original state. Thus sagely wisdom becomes a flaw, benevolence and righteousness give rise to disorder, and clever schemes for profit invite theft. All three treat outward adornment as something lacking. So the sage puts an end to learning that strives and acts, and rests in the affairs of Wuwei (non-action). What is there left to worry about?

How far apart are the respectful “yes” and the dismissive “yeah”? How far apart are good and evil? These are distinctions made by those who pursue learning. Yet however they draw the lines, the result is the same: losing one’s nature and harming one’s life. People fear losing their lives, but studying all kinds of ways can itself harm life; this is something we must take seriously. Therefore, this kind of learning must be abandoned. With so many paths of study, people become bewildered and lose their way, unable to hold fast to the center.

At the beginning of learning, people review their lessons at set times and take pleasure in them, as though tasting a lavish sacrificial feast; they lose their ease. They are like people climbing a terrace on a spring day to admire the view; they lose their stillness. I alone remain in awe, recalling the state of Heaven and Earth at their beginning, like an infant who has not yet learned to smile. I move lightly and unsteadily, as if I had nowhere to return to.

As learning deepens, what one hears and knows grows ever greater, and each day seems to bring some gain, until everyone appears full and overflowing. I let myself diminish day by day as I follow the Dao, as though nothing were left in me. In stillness and movement alike, I do not let the workings of nature reveal themselves at will; I simply remain silent and accord with the Dao. I preserve an uncarved, undivided simplicity, without the deliberate effort of a worthy person.

When learning reaches its extreme, ornament overwhelms substance, and one’s true nature disappears. People’s brilliance shines like the sun and moon suspended in the sky. Their wide learning and strong memory cause the mind and spirit to sink into distraction; their keen discernment is as though they could see even the fish in the depths of an abyss. I alone hold fast to the root. Outwardly I seem dim, revealing none of the cleverness that sees through things; inwardly I remain undivided, displaying none of the sharpness that grasps how things work. My mind is vast as the sea, still and settled, as though it clung to nothing and came to rest nowhere.

From the beginning of learning to its extreme, people rely on constant accumulation to achieve things. I alone seem dull and shallow, as though I accomplish nothing. In this, how do I differ from others? Only in valuing nourishment drawn from the mother. Heaven and Earth are the mother of the myriad things. People sustain their lives on grains and the many flavors; I alone draw on the Qi (vital energy) of Great Harmony, the pure, balanced breath of Yin-Yang (yin and yang) between Heaven and Earth. Thus I can live long and never die. This is how I differ from everyone else.

The form of great De follows only the Dao. The Dao seems elusive and difficult to grasp. Within the elusive, there are images; within the indistinct, there are things. In the deep darkness lies an essence of subtlety. This essence is utterly real, and within it is something that can be trusted.

From ancient times to the present, the name of the Dao has never vanished. Through it, we can observe the origin of all things. How do I know what the origin of all things is like? By relying on this Dao.

“Kong” refers to the hours from the Zi hour to the Yi hour, during which the Three Yangs are in motion. In the deep darkness, the Way of Qian—the Way of Heaven, the Yang Way—already possesses true Jing and Qi. This is the time when it responds to things outside itself. “De” is the Dao embodied within oneself; “form” means that one’s appearance resembles Heaven and Earth. If, at this time, one takes true Jing into oneself and brings body and mind into accord with Heaven and Earth, the Dao will return of its own accord. Hence it is said: “The form of great De follows only the Dao.”

The Dao is elusive and difficult to grasp; this is speaking of it in terms of Yin and Yang. De, by contrast, appears as form and substance. Thus, when true Jing enters oneself and accords with Heaven and Earth, the Dao returns naturally. The Dao is both Yin and Yang. Its elusive aspect means that the Dao appears in Heaven as Yang; since Yin is contained within Yang, what seems elusive also has something subtle and hard to discern. When the Dao responds to things outside itself, it becomes Shen. Shen is what appears as something within formlessness. This refers to its state in Heaven, which is why it is said to contain “things.” Its dimly elusive aspect means that the Dao appears on Earth as Yin; since Yang is contained within Yin, what is subtle and hard to discern also has an elusive aspect. When the Dao responds to things outside itself, it becomes Qi. Qi is what lies concealed as nothingness within form. This refers to its state on Earth, which is why it is said to contain “images.”

Within the deep darkness lies Jing. Between Heaven and Earth, Yin and Yang move together and cycle through transformations, ultimately forming the Jing and Qi of all things. The Dao I have come to understand originally emerges from this depth. Its Jing and Qi are real and true, corresponding to the Upper Origin—the celestial source described in Daoism. Within it are trustworthy signs, and it moves at all times without error. The Dao runs through past and present and endures without perishing; therefore, its name has been passed down unchanged from antiquity to the present.

Heaven and Earth are the root of all things. When one’s own form accords with Heaven and Earth, one can thereby observe the source of all things. This source is specifically called “Fu” because Heaven and Earth nurture and bring forth all things like a father. How do we know that this is the source of all things? Jing and Qi gather to form Shen; Shen transforms and gives rise to Qi; Qi then transforms and generates all things. The transformations of all things turn without end, like a ring, and never cease. Thus, things are not born because they wish to be born, but because they must be; they do not die because they wish to die, but because they must. The sage values Jing and Qi because they can gather Shen. Shen is not subject to the changes of birth and death, and can therefore transcend them.

Only by yielding can one be preserved; only by bending can one become straight; only in a hollow can one be filled; only through wear can one be renewed. Taking little brings gain, while craving much leads to confusion. Therefore, the sage holds to the Great Dao and makes it the standard for all under Heaven. Because he does not deliberately display himself, he sees clearly; because he does not insist on his own views, he is recognized; because he does not boast, he achieves merit; because he does not exalt himself, he endures. Precisely because he does not contend with others, no one under Heaven can contend with him. Could the ancients’ saying, “Only by yielding can one be preserved,” really be empty talk? Indeed, all things ultimately return to preservation.

The Great Dao accords with all things and does not contend, which is why it is said, “Only by yielding can one be preserved.” The way of Earth is inherently vast and upright, yet appears as though curved, which is why it is said, “Only by bending can one become straight.” The way of Heaven is empty and profound, broad as a valley, which is why it is said, “Only in a hollow can one be filled.” The way of the ruler preserves simplicity and follows what is natural, which is why it is said, “Only through wear can one be renewed.” These are four great principles of the world. Though they seem to be four, at their root they all come from the same Great Dao. When Heaven attains it, it becomes clear; when Earth attains it, it becomes peaceful; when lords and kings of old attain it, they can become the right way for all under Heaven. That is why it is said, “Taking little brings gain.”

If one abandons the root and pursues the branches, busily striving to accomplish things, one will be burdened by all manner of affairs; even after a hundred million years, there will be no end. The more affairs there are, the more confused one becomes. The sage therefore understands that the highest Dao is not complicated and that all different paths ultimately converge in one place. He holds to the Great Dao and makes it the standard for all under Heaven. He follows these four principles in responding to worldly affairs, so that he is not burdened by arbitrary action.

Not deliberately displaying himself means following the principle “Only by yielding can one be preserved,” and so he sees clearly. Not insisting on his own views means following the principle “Only by bending can one become straight,” and so he is recognized. Not boasting means following the principle “Only in a hollow can one be filled,” and so he accomplishes merit. Not exalting himself means following the principle “Only through wear can one be renewed,” and so he endures. In responding to all things, he takes the constant Dao as his foundation. The constant Dao does not contend with anything, so nothing between Heaven and Earth can overcome it. Could the ancients’ saying, “Only by yielding can one be preserved,” really be empty talk? Indeed, all things ultimately return to preservation.

The constant Dao is fundamental. It does not compete with the myriad things for supremacy, and so nothing between Heaven and Earth can compete with it. Could the ancients’ saying, “Yield, and you will remain whole,” really be empty words? Indeed, by yielding one can preserve oneself and ultimately return to the Dao.

Chapter 23: “Few Words Accord with Nature”

Speaking little accords with nature. A gale cannot blow all morning, and a downpour cannot last all day. What brings about such wind and rain? Heaven and Earth. If even Heaven and Earth cannot make them last long, how much less can people?

So those who act in accordance with the Dao are in accord with the Dao; those who act in accordance with De are in accord with De; and those whose conduct is misguided are in accord with what is misguided. When you are in accord with the Dao, the Dao receives you; when you are in accord with De, De receives you; when you are in accord with what is misguided, it too brings consequences in keeping with itself. When there is not enough trustworthiness, people will not believe.

What has Heaven said? We simply cannot hear its words. Few words are a feature of the way of Heaven, which always lets things follow their own nature. Gales and downpours are transient conditions between Heaven and Earth. If even changes of this kind cannot last, how can people act in accordance with the Dao if they cannot hold to what is constant?

Therefore, those who act in accordance with the Dao experience the Dao’s emptiness and Wuwei (non-action), and preserve and cultivate it; thus they are in accord with the Dao. They experience the purity and freedom from desire of supreme De, preserve and accumulate it; thus they are in accord with De. Those who stray from the constant Dao like a gale or downpour fall into delusion and confusion, bring misfortune upon themselves, and ultimately become aligned with the loss of the Dao. Those in accord with the Dao may ascend to the Southern Palace; those in accord with De may prolong their lives; those who have lost the Dao will take the path of ghosts. These three outcomes can all serve as clear evidence that inspires trust. When there is not enough trustworthiness, people will not believe.

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

Those who rise on tiptoe cannot stand firm; those who take oversized strides cannot walk far. Those who display themselves cannot see clearly; those who consider themselves right cannot make themselves known; those who boast have no merit; those who exalt themselves cannot endure.

Viewed by the principles of the Dao, these behaviors are like leftover food and excrescences. All things detest them, so people who possess the Dao do not act this way.

Trying to stand taller by rising onto one’s toes makes one unsteady; taking long strides to walk faster prevents one from going far. If one follows the way of the earth—the principles by which the earth operates—and keeps the heart still and free of desire, one can stand alone and endure without change. If one follows the way of Heaven—the principles by which Heaven and Earth operate—and keeps the heart empty, still, and free from contrivance, one can move everywhere without growing weary.

Displaying oneself, insisting on being right, boasting of one’s achievements, and exalting oneself are all faults caused by deliberate contrivance. Like standing on tiptoe or taking long strides, they go against nature. Acting this way departs from the mindless Way described earlier. Such conduct exceeds what one’s proper share requires, like leftover food; it goes beyond what Virtue itself calls for, like an extra appendage. These are all signs of grasping for perfection and becoming excessively full. Things often detest being overfull, so a person of the Dao does not act this way.

Chapter 25: A Thing Formed in Chaos

There is something whole and undivided that existed before Heaven and Earth came into being. Silent and still, empty and without form, it stands alone and endures without change. It moves everywhere without growing weary and may be regarded 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” means ceaseless movement. Ceaseless movement reaches far, and reaching far leads back again. Thus the Dao is great, Heaven is great, Earth is great, and the ruler is also great. In the universe there are four great things, and the ruler is one of them. Humanity takes its model from Earth, Earth takes its model from Heaven, Heaven takes its model from the Dao, and the Dao takes its model from what is naturally so.

The state in which Qi, form, and substance are all present but have not yet separated from one another is called hunlun (a whole, undifferentiated state). “There is something formed from the chaos” refers to this still undivided state of hunlun.

The beginning of change in form is “the One.” The One gives rise to Heaven and Earth, so it is said to have come before them. Here, “the Dao” is meant: it is silent and still, existing on its own, rooted in what is real and constant. How could it change? Earth is also described here: vast and boundless, it flows and changes continually. Its changes arise from subtle workings. How could they be exhausted? Heaven is mentioned as well: only once Heaven and Earth exist can the myriad things grow, so Heaven and Earth may be called the mother of all things under Heaven. “All under Heaven” means the myriad things. Because the Dao is the beginning of change in form, people did not know its original name and therefore called it “Dao.”

There is no source beyond the Dao, so it is reluctantly called “Great.” The Dao brings the undifferentiated state into division, and Heaven and Earth begin to separate. Heaven receives the Dao and moves without ceasing or obstruction; thus “Great” is also called “Passing,” meaning that it moves and flows. Light, clear Qi rises to become Heaven, while heavy, turbid Qi congeals to become Earth. Heaven moves without ceasing, and Earth is vast and boundless, so “Passing” is also called “Far-reaching.” Heaven and Earth contain vital essence, from which the myriad things come into being. As they flow from their roots gradually toward their tips, the myriad things move ever farther from the Dao. Thus “Far-reaching” also calls for “Returning”—a return to the root.

Only the sage can stand above the myriad things and nurture them without being burdened by them. The sage is one with the Dao and shares the function of Heaven and Earth. Since ancient times, Heaven and Earth have been regarded as the greatest of all beings. What should a ruler of all under Heaven do? It is enough to follow the virtue of the Heavenly Way. Thus the Dao, Heaven, Earth, and the ruler are all called “Great.” There are these four Great things under Heaven, and the ruler is one of them. The Dao and Heaven and Earth are great because they have attained the One. If a ruler possesses the Dao, he can accord with Heaven and Earth, and so he too is counted among the Great.

Beginning from the undifferentiated state: emptiness gives rise to nature, nature gives rise to the Dao, the Dao gives rise to the One, the One gives rise to Heaven and Earth, and Heaven and Earth give rise to the myriad things. If one can cultivate in reverse, following this sequence back to the source, one can return to the beginning and unite with nature. Hence it is said: humanity takes its model from Earth, Earth takes its model from Heaven, Heaven takes its model from the Dao, and the Dao takes its model from nature.

Chapter 26: The Heavy Is the Root of the Light

The heavy is the root of the light; stillness is the ruler of restlessness. Thus, a noble person may travel all day without leaving the baggage cart behind. Even when splendid sights lie before him, he remains composed and self-possessed in his dwelling. If he is a ruler with ten thousand chariots, how can he treat the realm lightly? Lightness causes one to lose one’s ministers; restlessness causes one to lose one’s throne.

Steadiness can govern lightness, so the heavy is called the root of the light. Stillness can master restlessness, so stillness is called its ruler. These two are the foundation of the Dao. A noble person understands this and therefore never travels without the baggage cart. The cart takes emptiness as its substance and Wuwei (non-action) as its function. Its interior is still, and it bears its own weight; from within, it can therefore govern the light, restless spokes on the outside. A noble person follows this example. Even when faced with splendid sights and the temptations of lightness and restlessness, he remains steady and still in his dwelling, composed and self-possessed, without letting such things disturb his heart.

Since steadiness and stillness are so important, how can a ruler with ten thousand chariots treat the realm lightly? Lightness makes him lose steadiness and prevents him from dwelling at ease; restlessness makes him lose stillness and keeps his spirit from remaining composed. The guiding principle for ministers is especially to make themselves steady first; for a ruler, it is especially to hold fast to stillness. The way of ruler and minister alike must not be light or restless.

Chapter 27: Skillful Conduct

One skilled at walking leaves no wheel tracks or footprints. One skilled at speaking makes no mistakes in speech. One skilled at calculation uses no counting rods. One skilled at closing leaves nothing that can be opened, though using no bolt. One skilled at binding leaves nothing that can be undone, though using no rope.

Therefore, the Sage is always skilled at helping people, and so no one is abandoned. He is always skilled at helping things, and so nothing is discarded. This is called “inheriting illumination”: taking up and applying a wisdom that lies deep and out of sight. The good person is the teacher of the person who is not good; the person who is not good is a lesson for the good person. If one does not honor one’s teacher or value what can serve as a lesson, then, though one thinks oneself wise, one is in fact confused and unenlightened. This is the profound mystery within.

The Great Dao moves through the four quarters of Heaven and Earth, yet leaves no tracks like the ruts of a cart. The Way of Heaven speaks no words, yet responds with perfect accord. It makes no mistakes, and wins without striving for victory; it needs no schemes or calculations. The Way of Earth stores and gathers the vital essence of great harmony, yet no bolt can bar it. It brings together the workings of the mysterious source, yet no rope can bind it. These best express the wondrous workings of the Dao.

Thus, the sage acts throughout the day but never departs from the root. It is like a cart carrying provisions on a journey, yet leaving no ruts. The sage teaches without words and so incurs no fault; holds fast to the One—the root of the Dao—as the standard for all under Heaven, yet makes no calculations; keeps the spirit within, needing no bolt, so that no one can open it; returns to and guards the source of all things under Heaven, needing no rope, so that nothing is scattered.

The sage embodies this Dao, and so can always guide people well: everyone rests at ease in their own customs, and no one goes without instruction. The sage can also nurture all things well: each thing follows its own nature, and nothing goes without nourishment. This is called being skilled in embodying the Dao, or “inheriting the light” (ximing): receiving and embodying the wisdom of the Great Dao.

Only the sage is skilled in this, and can therefore serve as a teacher to those who are not skilled in embodying the Dao. People who are not skilled in the Dao can nevertheless receive the sage’s teaching, and thus become the means by which those skilled in the Dao are able to act. Those who receive the teaching think they were already this way by nature, and so do not honor their teacher. Those skilled in the Dao claim no credit for their achievements, and so do not prize those who serve as their means. The sage acts in this way not to make the people seem clever, but to keep them simple and undisturbed by cunning and clever knowledge. To treat the Dao as a way to display one’s wisdom is to depart from this practice; this is called “great delusion” (a profound loss of the way). Whether receiving or giving instruction, people forget distinctions of status and feelings of love or dislike: they do not esteem anyone above others or cling to anyone. This is the subtle essence of the Dao.

Chapter 28: “Know the Masculine”

Know the strong, yet hold to the weak: be like the valley of the world. As the valley of the world, everlasting De will never depart, and one will at last return to the state of an infant. Know the bright, yet hold to the dark: be like the model for the world. As the model for the world, everlasting De will never stray, and one will at last return to the boundless state of the limitless. Know honor, yet remain content with disgrace: be like the valley of the world. As the valley of the world, everlasting De will become full, and one will at last return to the uncarved simplicity.

When the uncarved whole is divided, it becomes the various vessels. The sage puts it to use and thereby becomes the leader of the officials. Thus, truly great governance does not divide things.

Yang represents strength and vigor; Yin represents softness and yielding. If one understands how to express Yang’s strength while also maintaining Yin’s quiet gentleness, one can nourish and contain all things like the earth, returning to the Way of Earth. This is why it is called “the stream of the world.” A stream is a small flow of water in the mountains, while the earth is like the stream of the whole world, receiving all things. It gives to all things without thinking of itself as having given anything. This is called “constant De never departing.” If one can maintain the Way of Earth and value deep, substantial cultivation, one can return to the pure, desireless state of an infant.

White represents daytime; black represents night. If one understands the brightness of day while maintaining the stillness of night, one can let day and night each remain in their proper place and accord with the Great Dao. This is why it is called “the pattern of the world.” “Pattern” means a standard or rule: a ruler’s teachings can become the law of a state, while the Dao is the common law of all under Heaven. When true Jing is pure and unified, trustworthiness is present within it. This is called “constant De never deviating,” meaning that enduring virtue has no error. If one can maintain the Way of unity and harmonize body and mind so that they move smoothly, one can return to the limitless.

When all things spread forth and grow, they flourish; when they are cut back and shaped, they are humbled. If one understands their flourishing at the moment of first growth while also maintaining humility after they have been cut and shaped, one can return to the root and recover one’s original life, going back to the Great Dao. This is why it is called “the valley of the world.” A valley is a small lowland between mountains and marshes; Heaven, by contrast, is like a vast valley that contains all things. Not clinging to fixed opinions, one responds to all things in emptiness and stillness, with inexhaustible effect. This is called “constant De becoming complete.” If one can maintain the Way of Heaven and live calmly in Wuwei (non-action), one can return to the Uncarved Block.

The Uncarved Block refers to the Dao’s complete original substance. After it gives rise to Heaven and Earth, it disperses into the many different things: what is light and clear becomes a wondrous instrument of spirit, while what is turbid and heavy becomes an instrument for human use. The wondrous instrument of spirit embodies higher De; higher De is Wuwei and does not force action through subjective intent. Thus, the wondrous instruments of the world must not be handled recklessly. Instruments for human use embody lower De; lower De acts and has specific aims. Thus, the key instruments by which a state is governed must not be casually shown to others.

When a sage puts the Way of the Uncarved Block into practice, the sage can become a leader among the people. Even the vast work of Heaven and Earth in shaping all things cannot cut apart or damage the uncarved state of Wuwei.

Those who wish to seize the world and govern it by force, I think, will never succeed. The world is a sacred vessel; it cannot be controlled through artificial effort. Forceful action leads to failure, while clinging to control leads to loss.

Among the myriad things, some move forward and some follow; some are gentle and nurturing, while others blow fiercely; some are strong, while others are weak; some bear things up, while others destroy them. Therefore, the sage rejects extremes, extravagance, and excess.

Heaven and Earth endure because they have no selfish desires and do not act recklessly. So those who wish to seize the world and govern it by force, I think, will not succeed. This is because the world is a sacred vessel that cannot be governed by force. Its workings are deep and subtle, beyond the reach of human cunning or strength. Thus forceful action fails, and clinging to control leads to loss.

The transformations of all things in the world are like the waxing and waning of Yin-Yang Qi: as Yang Qi moves forward, Yin Qi follows; when Yang Qi reaches its height, Yin Qi turns and blows; when Yin Qi grows strong, all things gradually weaken; and when Yin Qi reaches its fullness and can bear things up, all things change along with it. Success and failure, gain and loss, cannot be determined in advance. Those who wish to seize the world and govern it by force will be constrained by the patterns of Yin-Yang change and cannot escape being burdened by them.

Therefore, the sage follows the Way of Heaven and lives at ease; this is why it is said to reject extremes. The sage follows the Way of Earth and lives simply; this is why it is said to reject extravagance. The sage embodies the Great Way and rests in a state of wanting little; this is why it is said to reject excess. The sage does not rely on the world, spirits, or the myriad things to act, and so neither fails nor loses.

Assisting a Ruler with the Dao

Those who assist a ruler with the Dao do not use military force to dominate the world. They take the lower position, refusing to impose themselves through strength, and do not rely on spirits or the myriad things to act. In this way, they avoid failure and loss.

One who assists a ruler through the Dao does not bring the world under control by force, for such conduct always invites retaliation. Where armies have been stationed, thorns and brambles grow; after a great war, years of famine often follow. Thus, a skilled commander stops once the aim is achieved and does not dare to rely on force to prevail. He wins without boasting, attacking, or becoming proud. He uses arms only when there is no other choice, and does not rely on violence to keep expanding. When things reach the height of their strength, they begin to decline. This is called going against the Dao; what goes against the Dao soon perishes.

Weapons are ill-omened objects, and war is dangerous. Conflict runs counter to De. Therefore, one who assists a ruler through the Dao does not bring the world under control by force, since such conduct readily invites retaliation: “What you do to others will eventually return to you.” Stationing armies drains the people’s wealth and labor, leaving the land overgrown with thorns and brambles. When a great army sets out, it disrupts the harmony between Heaven and Earth, and years of famine often follow.

A skilled commander stops once the aim is achieved and does not dare to rely on military strength to claim superiority or victory. Acting in accordance with the Great Dao, he wins without boasting, and his De can endure. Acting in accordance with the Way of Heaven, he wins without vaunting himself, and his achievements can be preserved. Acting in accordance with the Way of Earth, he wins without pride, and so avoids bringing misfortune upon himself. These three ways of acting all mean achieving victory only when there is no other choice, without boasting, relying on oneself, or becoming proud. This is what it means to win without continuing to flaunt one’s strength. To rely on force and assert one’s power is to depart from the Great Dao, and so to perish soon.

On Fine Weapons, Chapter 31

Fine weapons are ill-omened objects, which people often loathe; therefore, one who has the Dao does not rely on them as a matter of course. In ordinary times, the gentleman honors the left; in times of war, he honors the right. Weapons are ill-omened objects, not instruments the gentleman delights in. He uses them only when there is no other choice, and should remain calm and detached.

War should not be praised as a beautiful thing. If it is praised, people will take pleasure in it; those who delight in war delight in killing. Those who delight in killing cannot fulfill their ambition to govern the world. For auspicious occasions, the left is honored; for funerals, the right is honored. Thus, the deputy general stands on the left, and the supreme general on the right. This means that when one holds the position of commander, war should be treated according to the rites of mourning. When many people have been killed, one should grieve and mourn; even after winning a battle, one should observe the rites of mourning.

Weapons are a great calamity that harm the people, and dangerous instruments in the world. How much less, then, should anyone boast of them? They are ill-omened things, hated by all beings. Only those who have attained the Dao (the Way) do not use them as ordinary tools.

A person of noble character should not regard weapons as worthy of praise. In ordinary life, the left is considered honorable: it belongs to Yang, governs life, and symbolizes auspicious affairs. In war, however, the right is considered honorable: it belongs to Yin, governs killing, and symbolizes calamity. Repeatedly calling weapons ill-omened is a solemn warning against resorting lightly to force. Weapons are not tools a person of noble character uses routinely; they are used only when there is no other choice. When using them, one should have no desire to triumph or show strength; calm detachment is best. Even victory in battle should not be celebrated. To treat victory as a joyful occasion and take pleasure in killing is what is called “delighting in arms”—regarding warfare as admirable and slaughter as a source of joy.

Those who delight in warfare are loathed by the Dao of Heaven. How could they possibly prevail in the world? Thus, for auspicious affairs the left is honored, while for inauspicious affairs the right is honored. In the army, the deputy general stands on the left and the supreme general on the right. This reflects the practice of honoring the right in war: the commanders occupy the higher position according to the rites for mourning, because war is an inauspicious affair. When many people have been killed, one should grieve and weep; even in victory, the occasion should be treated according to the rites for mourning.

Chapter Thirty-Two: The Dao Is Ever Nameless

The Dao is forever without a fixed name. It is like an uncarved block of wood. Though it may seem small, nothing in the world can command it. If the lords and kings can hold fast to the Dao, all things will naturally come to them. When Heaven and Earth unite, sweet dew will descend. Without anyone issuing a command, it will spread evenly of its own accord.

Once things begin to be distinguished and named, names arise. When distinctions and names exist, one must know where to stop. Knowing where to stop keeps one from danger. The Dao in the world is like streams flowing into rivers and seas.

The constant and unchanging Dao is the beginning of all things under Heaven and Earth. How could a name define it? So it is called “the Nameless.” The Nameless Dao is blended into one. Before Heaven and Earth were divided, all was whole and undifferentiated; this is called the uncarved block, its natural state before it is shaped. It seems like something tiny between Heaven and Earth, so we say the uncarved block is small. Yet when a sage makes use of it, it can become the ruler of all things. No one under Heaven dares treat it as a subordinate and slight it.

The heart-mind is the body’s master and the ruler of the five organs. If one can hold fast to “the One of the Dao”—the state of single-minded adherence to the Dao—body and mind can become empty and still. Then all things naturally gather. What would not come into accord? When the heart-mind does not act recklessly, peaceful Qi (vital energy) returns, and sweet dew descends. No one commands the myriad things, yet they naturally reach harmony and balance.

“Beginning” refers to the Dao’s original unity; “the named” is the source of the myriad things—that is, Heaven and Earth. Only the Dao can govern Heaven and Earth, so it is said that the Dao begins to generate and govern what has a name. Yet each person should observe the Way of Heaven for themselves. Once names and forms have appeared, one should know when to stop. Knowing contentment and when to stop means abiding in “the One of the Dao.” In this way, one can become a standard for all under Heaven and avoid danger.

The nature of all things under Heaven is originally connected. The Dao is present throughout the world by joining with all things through their nature. It is like the rivers and seas, which are good at staying low: they do not deliberately summon the waters of streams and valleys, yet those waters naturally flow into them. When people know when to stop, remain empty and practice Wuwei (non-action), they do not deliberately pursue the Dao; the Dao, too, naturally returns to them.

On Knowing Others and Oneself, Chapter 33

Understanding others is cleverness; knowing oneself is true clarity. Overcoming others takes strength; overcoming oneself is true fortitude. Knowing contentment is wealth; persevering in practice is having resolve. Never leaving one’s roots brings endurance; remaining unforgotten after death is longevity.

Turning one’s attention outward to observe and understand others is called “wisdom”; practicing Wuwei and turning inward to know oneself is called “clarity.” Knowing contentment is wealth; striving to put one’s understanding into practice is having resolve. Not losing one’s roots brings endurance; when one’s spirit or achievements continue to be passed down after death, that is called longevity.

To observe things in the world and judge and act on that basis is called “wisdom.” To seek nothing outside oneself and instead turn inward to contemplate one’s own original mind is called “clarity.” Thus, understanding others is wisdom; understanding oneself is clarity.

To dare to act and restrain external things through force is called “having strength.” To have the courage not to act recklessly and restrain oneself through gentleness is called “being strong.” Thus, overcoming others counts as having strength, while overcoming oneself is true strength. Those who have attained the Dao devote themselves to knowing and restraining themselves; they do not focus on understanding or overcoming others.

To know oneself is to understand the principles by which Heaven and Earth operate, so that external desires cannot disturb the mind and one can rest content in one’s proper place. This is what is meant by “one who knows contentment is rich.” To overcome oneself is to understand the Great Dao, so that external things cannot outweigh one’s aspirations and one can continually strive forward. This is what is meant by “one who presses forward with strength has resolve.”

Not allowing external desires to shake the mind means settling body and mind within oneself, without chasing after things outside. That is why the passage goes on to say that only by holding fast to one’s roots can one endure. Not allowing external things to outweigh one’s aspirations means not letting material desires command the spirit, and keeping the spirit self-directed. That is why the passage goes on to say that only when the body dies but the spirit is not forgotten can one be called long-lived. Without understanding the Dao of Heaven and Earth, who could accomplish these things?

Chapter 34: The Great Dao Pervades Everywhere

The Great Dao is vast and present everywhere. Whether to the left or to the right, its workings are there. All things depend on the Dao for life, yet the Dao does not refuse them or claim credit. It nurtures and shelters all things, yet does not set itself up as their ruler. Because it so often has no desire to rule all things, it may be said to seem small. All things return to the Dao, yet do not know that it rules them; for this reason, it may also be called great. The sage never considers himself great, and so he achieves greatness.

The latter half of the original repeats the idea that the Dao nurtures all things, claims no credit, and does not make itself their ruler. It begins with “Yang ke”; the translation here follows the wording available.

Yang can only move to the left, not to the right. It can therefore make the myriad things grow, but cannot give them form. Yin can only move to the right, not to the left. It can therefore give the myriad things form, but cannot make them grow. Only the Dao (the Way), vast and boundless, embraces both Yin and Yang: it can make the myriad things grow and give them form. Thus, whether to the left or the right, there is nothing it cannot accomplish.

Heaven receives the Dao, so the myriad things depend on Heaven for their life; yet Heaven does not claim credit for this. Earth receives the Dao, so after the myriad things take form, Earth does not claim their achievements as its own. Heaven makes the myriad things grow, while Earth gives them form. The laws by which Heaven and Earth move encompass and nurture the myriad things, yet do not make themselves their rulers, and so they are always free of grasping desire. But Heaven and Earth merely follow one part of the Dao and have a more limited sphere of action, so they may be called “small.” The Dao is vast and boundless; all things turn to it, yet it does not make itself their ruler, and so it may be called “great.” Here, too, “great” is merely a name reluctantly assigned to the Dao.

Thus, the sage keeps the mind empty and still, without desire, and models himself on Heaven and Earth. He never makes a point of displaying his greatness. Yet the natural Dao, which needs no agreement or command, turns to him of its own accord, and he thereby attains greatness.

Chapter 35: Holding to the Great Image

Hold to the Dao—the fundamental principle that governs the myriad things—and all under Heaven will turn to it. When they turn to it and come to no harm, they will find stability, peace, and ease. Beautiful music and delicious food can make travelers stop along the way; but when the Dao is spoken of, it seems bland, as though it had no flavor. Look at it, and there is nothing to see; listen for it, and there is nothing to hear. Use it, and it can never be exhausted.

What is called “the great image has no form” is the Dao. When someone grasps the Great Dao, people throughout the world turn toward them: this is governing the world through the Dao. When a ruler follows the Dao, the people have something to rely on. Thus the world turns toward them without suffering harm, and society is peaceful, stable, and flourishing.

This is because, by taking Heaven’s Dao of emptiness, stillness, and inclusiveness as a model, the people remain secure and undisturbed; by taking Earth’s Dao of sustaining and calmness as a model, society remains steady and does not founder; and by taking the Great Dao of harmony and free passage as a model, the world flourishes without obstruction. In this way, all things find their proper place and do not hinder one another. What calamity could there be?

People delight in pleasing sounds but do not know the “sound of sounds” spoken of in Heaven’s Dao. They delight in delicious flavors but do not know the “flavor of flavors” spoken of in Earth’s Dao. Thus they become absorbed in their appetites and desires, clinging to them for a long time, unaware that those who cultivate the Dao regard such things as temporary lodgings.

Here, music is discussed in terms of sound. The various sounds heard by the ear can be perceived, but the source that makes sound possible has never been revealed. Food is the same: its many flavors can be tasted, but the source that makes flavor possible has never appeared. The Dao emerges from the void, plain and without flavor. This is the source meant by “sound of sounds” and “flavor of flavors.”

Those who govern the world through the Dao attain the Dao’s unobstructed and mysterious passage, and so they cannot see it; they attain Heaven’s Dao of peace and profound remoteness, and so they cannot hear it; they attain Earth’s Dao of evenness and vastness, and so its use is inexhaustible. Their purpose is simply to return the world to plainness and simplicity. How could they allow the people’s minds to be burdened by appetites and desires?

Chapter Thirty-Six: “If You Would Draw Something In”

If you would draw something in, first let it fully expand. If you would weaken something, first let it appear strong. If you would abolish something, first let it rise. If you would take something away, first give it. This is called “subtle illumination”: insight that emerges from what is minute. The soft can overcome the hard; the weak can overcome the strong. Fish cannot leave the deep pools, and a state’s sharp instruments must not be displayed lightly. Here, “the sharp instruments of the state” refers to the strategies and power used to govern.

Displaying sharp implements to people will disrupt their desires and thoughts. Only those who have realized the emptiness and stillness of the Heavenly Dao know that there is nothing in their own hearts that needs to be displayed. Why, then, deliberately restrain it? To restrain it deliberately, one must first have displayed it.

Those who have realized the ease and simplicity of the Great Dao know that there is nothing in their desires that needs to be forcibly suppressed. Why, then, deliberately diminish them? To diminish them deliberately, one must first have strengthened them. Those who have realized the rectitude of the Royal Dao know that there is nothing in their desires that needs to be aroused. Why, then, deliberately abolish them? To abolish them deliberately, one must first have aroused them. Those who have realized the stillness and stability of the Earthly Dao know that there is nothing in their desires that needs to be possessed. Why, then, deliberately take it away? To take it away deliberately, one must first have given it.

All four approaches arise from the pursuit of “sharp implements.” These are the hard, conspicuous, harmful forces of the Earthly Dao. Thus, the attempt to abolish something often ends up making it flourish first. This is called “subtle insight”—discernment that is fine-grained and far-reaching. Why is this so? The soft and yielding, when placed above, is the fundamental force that governs Heaven, Earth, and all things. The hard and strong, when placed below, becomes a sharp implement that wounds. The sage rests in softness and yielding, and does not let sharp implements disturb the heart. Thus the sage overcomes hardness with softness and strength with weakness.

Understand this: fish live in water, and their survival depends on it; people live in the Dao, and the Dao pervades them. When fish leave the depths, they lose their lives. When sharp implements are displayed to people, people too lose the Dao.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Dao Always Acts Without Action

The Dao always follows its natural course. It seems to do nothing, yet nothing is left unaccomplished. If lords and kings can hold to this principle, all things will transform and flourish of their own accord. When desires and deluded thoughts arise amid this transformation, I will use the “uncarved simplicity without a name”—the unworked, undifferentiated state of what is natural—to bring them to rest. Hold fast to this nameless simplicity, and desires will gradually cease. When there is no desire, the heart returns to stillness, and the world naturally settles into peace and order.

The constant Dao is inherently Wuwei (non-action). The way Heaven and Earth operate is also Wuwei, yet nothing is left undone. Heaven and Earth take the Dao as their model; all they accomplish arises from Wuwei. Thus it is said: “The Dao is constantly Wuwei, yet nothing remains unaccomplished.” If rulers take Heaven and Earth as their model and hold fast to the Dao in governing the world, the myriad things will change along with it, growing naturally in accordance with their own nature, without knowing that they are being governed. Thus it is said: “If rulers can hold fast to the Dao, the myriad things will change of themselves.”

When the myriad things are changing, if someone tries to impose their will, affairs become deliberate acts. The sage therefore uses the uncarved simplicity without a name—the Dao, unadorned and naturally simple—to settle people’s hearts and return the myriad things to a state of Wuwei. This uncarved simplicity without a name is the Dao of Heaven and Earth. When the myriad things change naturally, who would insist on pursuing anything? Thus desire will not arise. When there is no desire, one need only preserve stillness and purity. With stillness, purity, and Wuwei, the world will naturally return to the right path.

End of the first volume of The Complete Interpretation of the True Scripture of the Dao and Its De.

The Complete Interpretation of the True Scripture of the Dao and Its De, second volume

The “Free and Easy Interpretation” by Shi Yong of Boshe

Chapter 38: Esteeming the highest De without claiming to possess De

A person of highest De (Virtue/Power) does not deliberately display De, and for that reason truly possesses De. A person of lesser De always tries to preserve a reputation for De, and for that reason does not truly possess it. Highest De follows its natural course and makes no deliberate effort; lesser De takes action with a clear purpose in mind.

Highest benevolence acts without a particular aim; highest righteousness acts with a clear purpose. Highest ritual acts, but receives no response, so it rolls up its sleeves and forcibly demands compliance. This shows that the coercive enforcement of ritual has already departed from the Dao.

Thus, only after the Dao is lost do people speak of De; only after De is lost do they speak of benevolence; only after benevolence is lost do they speak of righteousness; and only after righteousness is lost do they speak of ritual. Ritual marks the gradual decline of loyalty and trust, and is the source from which disorder begins. What is called the insight of those who know early and see ahead is merely the Dao’s outward radiance, and the beginning of folly.

Therefore, the great person who possesses the Dao takes their stand in earnest simplicity and does not linger in superficial display. They value inner truth and do not pursue outward embellishment, so they set aside the latter and choose the former.

High De is an inborn virtue. The sage contemplates the Dao of Heaven and quietly realizes it, thereby becoming one with the Dao. In truth, the sage does not deliberately seek to attain anything, which is why this is called “not having De”: the sage does not regard De as something acquired for the self. Precisely because the sage seeks nothing, De naturally comes to reside in them; thus it is said that they have De.

Low De, by contrast, treats De as something acquired for oneself. A person of low De clings to De, believing it must not be lost; this is why it is said that they “do not lose De.” One who clings to De has already departed from the Dao’s natural Wuwei. Hence it is said that they are “without De.”

The De of Heaven cannot be attained through effort, so one follows nature, takes no action, and has no deliberate purpose in acting. Those who treat De as something acquired cling to it, and so they act with a clear purpose.

When De declines, it gives way to benevolence. Benevolence can be expressed through action, which is why it is said that High De takes no action, while Supreme Benevolence acts. Yet true great benevolence does not deliberately advertise itself as benevolence: although it appears to act, it has no contrived purpose, and so it approaches High De.

Righteousness encompasses De, but it too can suffer loss. Hence it is said that low De acts, while Supreme Righteousness also acts. Yet those of Supreme Righteousness establish a self within themselves and have not yet forgotten the self; they impose constraints on affairs outside themselves and have not yet reached the point of doing nothing. Even when called Supreme Righteousness, they still cling to something. Their actions therefore have a purpose and resemble low De.

When the Dao declines, De declines as well. Benevolence and righteousness then fall away, and people turn to ritual propriety and external forms in their dealings with one another. They make a show of proper conduct, but in practice it readily becomes false. Such conduct brings trouble. If the other person does not respond, they wave their arms and forcibly pull and correct them. This shows that each loss cuts deeper than the one before. Thus it is said: only after losing the Dao do people speak of De; only after losing De do they speak of benevolence; only after losing benevolence do they speak of righteousness; only after losing righteousness do they speak of ritual propriety.

When ritual propriety is pursued to excess and imposed on others without a response, this shows that loyalty and trust have grown thin. To forcefully drag and compel others is the beginning of disorder. De has higher and lower forms, so the discussion below distinguishes between them. From benevolence onward, it speaks only of Supreme Benevolence and Supreme Righteousness, without discussing their inferior forms, because those are no longer worth addressing. To treat cleverness as foresight is shallower still than ritual propriety. People rack their brains, repeatedly speculating and sharpening their cleverness; this is “the superficial flourish of the Dao.” To exhaust the mind and spirit and damage one’s natural purity is the beginning of foolishness.

The text does not say that wisdom arises only after ritual propriety is lost, because ritual propriety already disrupts De, while cleverness departs from the Dao. Therefore, the great man rests in profound De and does not linger in shallow ritual propriety; he stands upon the Dao’s reality and does not become absorbed in the superficial flourish of cleverness. He sets aside the worldly trappings of ritual and cleverness, and chooses the genuine, simple, and substantial realm of the Dao of the immortals.

In ancient times, those who attained “the One”—the root of the Dao and the source of unity—brought clarity to Heaven, calm to Earth, spiritual potency to the spirits, abundance to the valleys, growth to all things, and the power to serve as models for the world to rulers and lords. All these effects came from the One. If Heaven lost it, it could no longer remain clear and might collapse. If Earth lost it, it could no longer remain calm and might quake. If the spirits lost it, they could no longer manifest their power and might dissipate. If the valleys lost it, they could no longer remain full and might run dry. If all things lost it, they could no longer grow and might perish. If rulers and lords lost it, they could no longer set the world in order; if they still placed themselves in exalted positions, they might fall.

Thus, honor has lowliness as its root, and high rank has the low as its foundation. When rulers and lords call themselves “orphaned,” “widowed,” or “unworthy” as humble forms of address, are they not taking lowliness as their root? Surely they are. Many parts assembled make a complete cart; taken apart, they no longer make one. A person should not seek to shine like precious jade, nor stand alone and hard like a stone.

The One is the Dao. Before the Dao appears, it is the One. When rulers and lords call themselves “orphaned,” “widowed,” or “unworthy,” they are taking lowliness as their root. Surely they are. Many parts come together to make a cart; a person should not seek only to dazzle like precious jade, nor be aloof and hard like a stone.

“One” means the Dao. Before the Dao manifested in any form, there was nothing that could be grasped. After chaos divided and differentiated, all things, from ancient times onward, each received the Dao.

The sky is high above, and Wuwei (non-action) is its way of moving; when it attains the Dao, it becomes clear and bright. The earth rests quietly below, and stillness is its nature; when it attains the Dao, it becomes peaceful. Spirit is deep and unfathomable, and the changes of Yin-Yang cannot be fully known; when it attains the Dao, it becomes wondrously effective. The valleys are empty and low: this is an expression of the Way of Heaven. Heaven attains the Dao and becomes clear and bright, so the valleys attain the Dao and become full. All things grow in stability: this is an expression of the Way of Earth. Earth attains the Dao and becomes peaceful, so all things attain the Dao and grow. Spirit and the human body are joined, with spirit governing every part of the body; when spirit resides in a sage, it governs all under Heaven. Spirit attains the Dao and becomes wondrously effective. Thus, only when lords and kings attain the Dao can they become the proper standard for all under Heaven.

Only the Dao can bring these things to this state. If Heaven loses its clarity, it cannot cover all things and may collapse. If Earth loses its peace, it cannot bear all things and may overturn. If spirit loses its wondrous power, it cannot protect itself and may dissipate. If Heaven cannot maintain its clarity, the valleys lose their fullness and may dry up. If Earth cannot maintain its peace, all things lose their vitality and may perish. If spirit cannot maintain its wondrous power, lords and kings lose their integrity and may be overthrown.

Things of low status come together and thereby reveal what is honored; those in a lower position depend on those above and thereby make them appear great. It is like a mound rising as low places accumulate, becoming a high mountain, or rivers converging into the sea. A great person of De (Virtue/Power)—one cultivated in virtue—must gather people together to achieve what is just. Therefore, an honored and exalted position must not lose sight of its roots.

For this reason, lords and kings hold fast to “the Dao that is One” at the heart of all under Heaven. They call themselves “orphaned” and “bereft” because they understand that they should remain in a low position. They also call themselves “unworthy” because they place themselves humbly. A body is made up of many parts, and its governing spirit is honored because of them; the people of the realm make lords and kings honored. Their noble titles—are they not precisely because they take what is lowly as their root?

To understand what a “cart” is, we can use familiar things as an example. A cart is assembled from parts such as the shafts, axle, wheels, and spokes. If a cart is placed before us and we merely count its parts one by one, we remain confined to the separate pieces and cannot truly understand the cart. Only when these parts are assembled does the cart gain the ability to carry a load and travel. In the same way, only when the people occupy a low position and come together do lords and kings receive their honored, exalted titles.

Jade is precious, while stone is ordinary. Jade comes from stone, so what is precious also has what is lowly as its root. Yet jade has its own natural substance, which makes it precious by nature. Lords and kings who hold fast to the Dao are not inherently honored in themselves; how can they be regarded like jade and stone?

“Reversal” is the way the Dao moves; “weakness” is the way the Dao functions. All things under Heaven are born from “being,” and “being” is born from “nonbeing.”

Stillness is a quality of the Way of Earth. When the Way of Earth turns from stillness to movement, it does so through the mutual response of Yin and Yang. Hence the saying, “Reversal is the movement of the Dao.” Softness and weakness are qualities of the Way of Heaven. The Way of Heaven functions through softness and weakness, through the mutual response of Yang and Yin. Hence the saying, “Weakness is the function of the Dao.” Yang functions through “nonbeing,” while Yin takes form as “being.” As Yin and Yang respond to one another across the vastness of space, all things come into being. All things are born from the Way of Earth, so it is said that all things under Heaven are born from “being.” Yet things with form cannot come into being without the activity of the Way of Heaven; therefore, it is said that “being is born from nonbeing.”

Thus, “being” takes “nonbeing” as its mother; “nonbeing” takes “emptiness” as its mother; and “emptiness” takes the Dao as its mother. Nature is the root of the Dao. If one can abide in the Mysterious Capital, the wondrous realm of the Dao, and model oneself on nature, one can return from movement to stillness, gather the workings of things back into their source, and ultimately return to the Dao.

When people of the highest capacity hear of the Dao, they practice it diligently. Those of middling capacity hear of it and sometimes keep it in mind, sometimes forget it. Those of the lowest capacity hear of it and laugh out loud. If it were not mocked, it would not be worthy of being called the Dao. Thus an old saying goes: The bright Dao seems dim; the advancing Dao seems to retreat; the level Dao seems uneven. The highest virtue is like an empty valley. What is purest white seems stained. Vast virtue seems deficient. Firm and steadfast virtue seems slack. What is most genuine and simple seems altered. The greatest square has no corners; the greatest vessel is completed last. The greatest sound is scarcely heard; the greatest image has no fixed form. The Dao remains hidden and cannot be confined by a name. Only the Dao excels at giving to all things and bringing them to completion.

Once people of the highest capacity have understood the Dao, even when steadfastness seems like slackness, they continue to believe firmly. Even when what is genuine and simple seems altered, they can still grasp its essence. The greatest square has no corners; the greatest vessel is completed last. The greatest sound is scarcely heard; the greatest image has no fixed form. The Dao remains hidden and cannot be confined by a name. Only the Dao excels at giving to all things and bringing them to completion.

Those with the highest capacity have already understood the Dao, so their faith is deep and their commitment steadfast. When they hear its principles, they make every effort to put them into practice. Those with middling capacity are still studying and seeking the Dao. Only through effort can they accord with its principles; without effort, they cannot. Only through reflection can they gain understanding; without reflection, they cannot. At times they accept it, at times they abandon it. Even after hearing the Dao, they remain doubtful, and so they often waver between belief and disbelief, without necessarily putting it into practice. Those with the lowest capacity regard the Dao as something ordinary and shallow. They are like villagers who cannot understand a grand sound, or a crowd that rejects profound words. When they hear of the Dao, they are bound to dismiss and scorn it. They oppose it and even laugh at it. If the Dao were not mocked by those of the lowest capacity, how would it differ much from what villagers hear and the crowd says? How could it deserve to be called the Dao?

Thus the ancients put it this way: “Those who understand the Great Dao seem foolish.” One must keep the Dao in mind from morning to night, settle the spirit, reflect in stillness, and practice diligently in order to gain understanding. Advancing along the Dao seems like retreat: measured by the day, there appears to be no progress; measured by the year, there is more than enough. It is enough simply not to be burdened by gain or loss, advance or retreat. The level road seems uneven because people cling to things they can perceive—form, color, reputation—and to what their ears, eyes, nose, and mouth desire. To be mocked on that account is to have gone astray.

People should also understand that the “Four Greats”—the four great beings named in Daoist thought—stand within Heaven and Earth, yet none transcends the Dao. Highest De is described in terms of the Way of Heaven: it is low-lying yet able to fill up, and so seems like a valley. Great Purity is described in terms of the kingly way: it is worn down and renewed, and so seems disgraced. Broad De is described in terms of the Way of Earth: its use is inexhaustible, yet bringing it to fruition seems to leave something lacking, and so it appears insufficient. Established De is described in terms of the Great Dao: once established, it cannot be shaken; its cultivation continues but is hard to perceive, and so it seems negligent.

Because these qualities seem like a valley, disgrace, insufficiency, and negligence, people think they have changed from what they originally were. Yet the true substance of Highest De, Great Purity, Broad De, and Established De remains constant. This is called “true in substance, yet seeming to change.” Why should the true substance seem to have changed? Because “the greatest square has no corners; the greatest vessel takes long to complete; the greatest sound is rarely heard; the greatest image has no form.” The greatest square has no edges; the greatest vessel requires a long time to complete; the greatest sound seems silent; the greatest image has no fixed shape. The greatest square bears all things, and De accords with the boundless expanse of Heaven and Earth, so it has no corners. The great vessel is completed only after a long process, so it takes long to finish. The great sound relies on no words, yet sets the four seasons in motion, so it is rarely heard. The great image does not take shape as any particular thing, yet draws all things under Heaven toward itself, so it has no fixed form. This is why the “Four Greats” are great.

De is contained within the Dao, and the Dao within Heaven. If a ruler’s De can accord with the Dao of Heaven and Earth, it needs no name to mark it. This nameless state is precisely the beginning of Heaven and Earth. The Dao appears throughout Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things, yet for that very reason it remains hidden and hard to see. To describe the “Four Greats” separately as beings among the myriad things of Heaven, Earth, and humanity is merely to impose names in an effort to make the Great Dao clear. The Dao itself does not deliberately bestow kindness. Rather, Heaven and Earth and the rulers embody this Dao, enabling all things under Heaven to come to fruition. Hence the phrase “skilled in giving and sustaining.” The efficacy through which each thing comes to fruition thereby becomes apparent. Yet things come to fruition simply by following their course; the Dao does not set out to urge or arrange their fulfillment.

The Dao (the Way) gives rise to the primordial unity. Unity differentiates into the two poles of Heaven and Earth. Their interaction forms the Qi of Yin, Yang, and harmony, which in turn gives birth to the myriad things. All things carry Yin on their backs and embrace Yang; when the Qi of Yin and Yang blend, harmony is achieved.

People usually dislike titles such as “orphan,” “solitary,” and “unworthy,” yet dukes and kings use them to refer to themselves. “Unworthy” was a humble title used by ancient rulers, meaning that they considered themselves inept and inadequate. Sometimes things diminish and thereby gain; sometimes they increase and thereby lose. I, too, teach people according to the principle that others teach. Those who assert themselves through force and brutality often meet an untimely end. I will make these principles the foundation of instruction.

Unity emerges from change; hence it is said, “The Dao gives rise to one.” Unity is the starting point of change in form. Heaven and Earth are the greatest of formed things; hence it is said, “One gives rise to two.” Once Heaven and Earth are established, humans dwell between them, completing the triad of Heaven, Earth, and humanity; hence it is said, “Two gives rise to three.” The clear, light Qi rises to become Heaven, while the turbid, heavy Qi descends to become Earth. From the meeting of Yin and Yang, the Qi of humanity takes shape. Heaven and Earth contain Jing, and so the myriad things come into being; hence it is said, “Three gives rise to the myriad things.”

Heaven belongs to Yang, and its movement is solemn and orderly. As Yin Qi rises and joins with Yang, all things carry Yin on their backs. Earth belongs to Yin, and its Qi is abundant and spreads outward. As Yang Qi descends and joins with Yin, all things embrace Yang. Yin and Yang rise and fall, communicating with one another, and from this the Qi of harmony takes shape. Hence it is said, “All things carry Yin on their backs and embrace Yang; through the blending of Qi, harmony is achieved.”

The human body is like Heaven and Earth: Yin, Yang, and the Qi of harmony are all present within it, and a spirit of the highest order governs it. This is like a duke or king dwelling between Heaven and Earth, in accord with both, yet calling himself “orphan” or “solitary”; it is also like one who receives the Qi of great harmony and therefore calls himself “unworthy.” People turn away from the way of Shen and regard these titles as unlucky, while dukes and kings alone take on such humble names. Hence it is said, “People dislike nothing more than being called orphan, solitary, or unworthy, yet dukes and kings use these titles for themselves.”

The Qi of Yin-Yang harmony runs through all things and has no fixed increase or decrease. Yet Heaven and Earth wax and wane, and the myriad things rise and decline with the times: sometimes increase brings loss, and sometimes decrease brings gain. The principles people teach should also accord with the proper order of Heaven and Earth. I advocate stillness and clarity, and the people naturally become upright; this, too, is teaching in accordance with the proper order. This is how decrease brings gain. Those who assert themselves through force and brutality do the opposite, and so meet an untimely end. This is how increase brings loss. The sage observes these changes and makes them a warning; hence it is said that these principles should form the foundation of instruction.

Those in the world who rely on force and act violently go against the Dao of softness and Wuwei (non-action), and so often fail to meet a good end. What appears to be a gain is, in truth, a loss. Seeing this, the sage takes it as a warning and makes it a foundation for teaching.

Nothing in the world is softer than the softest thing, yet it can pass through what is hardest. What has no form can enter where there is no gap; from this we can see the benefit of Wuwei. The world has few things to compare with teaching without words and the benefits of following things as they are.

Here, “the utmost softness” refers to Shen (spirit), and “the utmost hardness” to the body. The true Shen communicates with the Dao: it can remain hidden and unseen, or become manifest. When Shen guides the body, it can make the body fly and move; the body, in turn, follows its course. Thus the softest thing in the world can pass through what is hardest.

The softest thing has no form, while the hardest is solid and without gaps. When one form guides another, there is always an obstruction between them, so it cannot enter a place with no gaps. But when Shen guides the body, its intent flows freely, reaching wherever it will with ease. Thus the formless can enter where there is no gap. The body’s transformation in response is “teaching without words”; the benefit understood by Shen is “the benefit of Wuwei.” If one can grasp the Dao of Heaven and Earth, respond to events through Wuwei, and put teaching without words into practice, one can reach a state in which body and Shen unite and both become wondrous, joining with the Dao. People in the world esteem verbal commands and delight in purposeful action, so few can achieve this.

Which is closer to you: your name or your person? Which matters more: your person or your possessions? Which brings greater distress: gain or loss? Those who cherish fame and wealth too much will surely pay a heavy price; those who hoard too many possessions often suffer even greater losses. Know contentment, and you will not be humiliated. Know when to stop, and you will not fall into danger. In this way, you can endure.

Those in positions of honor often spend every day, from morning to night, worrying whether their reputation is fitting. Over time, both body and spirit are neglected. This is the mistake of expending oneself for reputation. How can we see that what truly deserves to be treasured is oneself, not one’s reputation?

The wealthy toil in body and mind and rush about their affairs, accumulating many possessions, yet may never be able to enjoy them fully. In the end, they treat their bodies as though they were external to themselves. This is the mistake of expending oneself for profit. How can we see that what truly deserves to be amassed is oneself, not material wealth?

Once honor and disgrace become matters of great concern, people see the troubles they bring. Once possessions pile up, people see the rivalries that arise from them. Those who regard eminence as good know that reputation can bring honor; those who regard wealth as good know that possessions can bring gain. So, as soon as they see fame and profit, they forget their bodies and their original nature. But which harms a person more: gaining fame and profit, or losing them?

What people lose is Dao’s nameless, undivided simplicity, as well as the body that needs no support from external things. What could be more damaging than this? To crave reputation excessively and know no limit is ultimately to deplete what is most fundamental. What is meant by “what is most fundamental” is Dao, the nameless simplicity. To accumulate possessions without knowing contentment is ultimately to lose profound De. Profound De is the essential life that needs no support from external things.

The sage embodies the contentment expressed through vast De and does not value possessions above the self, so is not humiliated. The sage understands the restraint expressed through highest De and does not value reputation above the self, so faces no danger. In this way, the sage endures and exists alongside Heaven and Earth.

Chapter 45: Great Perfection Seems Incomplete

The most perfect thing seems to have some deficiency, yet its function never wears out. The most abundant thing seems empty, yet its function is never exhausted. The most upright seems crooked; the most skillful seems clumsy; the most eloquent seems unable to speak well.

Movement can overcome cold, and stillness can overcome heat. Clarity and Wuwei (non-action) are the standard the world should follow.

The truly great achievement is the virtue of Earth: vast virtue seems somehow deficient, so even when complete, it appears unfinished. The truly great fullness is the virtue of Heaven: the highest virtue does not cling to what it has gained, so even when full and abundant, it seems empty.

If achievement is like a mountain, its mass keeps building up until at last it collapses. That is not true greatness. Great achievement seems somehow deficient, yet it never decays, so its effects never run dry. If fullness is like stored water, it keeps giving until at last it is used up. That is not true fullness. Great fullness seems empty, yet it never dries up, so its effects have no end.

These two states are the workings of Heaven and Earth—that is, the workings of Yin-Yang. Heaven continually generates and nourishes the myriad things; this process of transformation never ceases, and the effects of what it generates have no end. Earth continually transforms and nurtures the myriad things; this process never ceases, and the effects of what it nurtures do not decline. This is because the Dao moves truly within them. The Dao runs through Heaven and Earth, Yin-Yang, and the myriad things, so we can understand the Dao by observing how Heaven and Earth operate.

In particular, “great straightness seems bent” describes the Way of Earth: it is upright without drawing attention to itself, so it seems clumsy. “Great skill seems clumsy” describes the constant Dao: it shapes the forms of the myriad things without displaying its skill, so it seems clumsy. “Great eloquence seems halting” describes the Way of Heaven: it speaks no words, yet responds aptly to the myriad things, so it seems unable to speak well.

At root, though Heaven and Earth are vast, they still depend on Yin-Yang. Yin and Yang alternate with each other, and this is the Dao. Yang Qi gathers to form Heaven; Yin Qi gathers to form Earth. Yin is still, while Yang moves; Yang is hot, while Yin is cold. Yang can restrain Yin, so activity can overcome cold; Yin can restrain Yang, so stillness can overcome heat. Yet when the cold recedes, the heat arrives; when the heat recedes, the cold returns. Yin and Yang thus alternate in their operation. How could their effects ever be exhausted or decline?

The Dao has its clear and turbid aspects, and its movement and stillness: clarity is the source of turbidity, and stillness is the foundation of movement. If people can remain clear and still, all things in Heaven and Earth will come to them—how much more so other things and human relationships? Thus it is said that clarity and stillness are the standard for all under Heaven.

When the Dao prevails in the world, warhorses are retired to plow fields and carry manure. When the Dao is lost, warhorses breed in the countryside, ready to be sent into battle. No fault is greater than craving external things; no calamity is greater than not knowing contentment; no failing is greater than wanting ever more. Only those who are content with what they have can remain satisfied.

Those who govern the world through the Dao keep the people’s cunning knowledge and excessive desires to a minimum. Everyone is then content in their place, does not compete for what belongs to others, and focuses on cultivating the fields. When society falls into decline and can no longer be renewed through the Dao, people see things they desire and cannot be satisfied. Greed takes hold, and they begin to seize and deceive, oppress others, and fight over territory. Then warhorses appear in the countryside.

Each person, too, has a world of their own within them. When the Dao is present in the heart, one can remain true to one’s proper place and tend the fields of the mind. When the Dao is lost within, one gives oneself over to roaming and desire, the spirit grows agitated, and inner peace is lost. Thus, craving external things is the greatest fault, not knowing contentment the greatest calamity, and wanting ever more the greatest failing; all stem from being unable to remain true to one’s proper place. If this goes too far, conflict follows. But if one accepts one’s allotted place in life, restrains the desires of body and mind, and remains calm and self-contained, one can find satisfaction within oneself. How, then, could one feel deprived? This is why those who know contentment can always be satisfied.

Without leaving home, one can understand the world; without looking out the window, one can perceive the Dao of Heaven. The farther one travels, the less one knows. Therefore, the sage understands without traveling, recognizes the myriad things without seeing them firsthand, and accomplishes things without deliberate action.

The world refers to the mountains, rivers, seas, and lands of the Nine Regions, where all things grow and continue without end. The Way of Heaven refers to the changing seasons, the waxing and waning of Yin-Yang, and the shifts of wind and rain; its movement has no limit. Turn back and observe yourself, and you will see that the human body and mind, too, contain the complete principles of the Way. Thus the sage says, “I share one Qi with Heaven and Earth, and move together with them.”

Once you understand this, you need not leave your door or look out the window to know the principles by which Heaven and Earth move. If you seek the Way outside yourself, the farther you go, the harder it becomes to find. A person already contains the myriad principles; by observing yourself at close hand, you can come to understand them.

The sage takes Earth as a model, making emptiness and stillness the foundation of the self; so the sage can know without traveling. The sage takes the Way of Heaven as a model, making Wuwei (non-action) the state of mind; so the sage can understand the principles behind things without seeing them firsthand. The sage takes the Great Way as a model, making natural accordance the constant way of life; so things can be accomplished without deliberate action, and there is no need to add cleverness or force to what one sees and does.

Chapter Forty: Learning Increases Day by Day

In pursuing learning, knowledge increases day by day. In cultivating the Way, desires and deliberate contrivances diminish day by day. Continue diminishing them until you reach Wuwei, and nothing will be left undone. Therefore, in governing the world, it is best to act without meddling. If affairs of state become numerous and are forced into action, the world cannot be governed well.

Learning is undertaken to investigate the principles of things, so knowledge gradually increases. Cultivating the Way is undertaken to bring human nature fully into view, so private desires and contrivances should gradually be diminished. Continue diminishing them until one’s nature is fully revealed, and then rest in one’s allotted place in Heaven’s order. When the principles of things have been thoroughly investigated, one is also equipped to govern the world.

Those who study seek to investigate principles, so their knowledge increases day by day. Those who cultivate the Dao seek to fully realize their nature, so they must decrease day by day. Only by continually letting go can they fully realize their nature and then reach the root of life. Principles can be investigated to their limit, and nature can be fully realized, but this still does not free one from deliberate action. That is why the text speaks of “studying” and “cultivating the Dao.” Only by reaching the root of life can one return to the source. Returning to stillness means returning to one’s original life, and in the end attaining Wuwei (non-action).

Wuwei is a state of stillness and nonmovement. Yet when things arise, one responds to them and thereby understands the principles of all things under Heaven; in this way, one also acts. Hence the saying, “Through Wuwei, nothing is left undone.” Acting single-mindedly will inevitably lead to conduct constrained by external things, while doing nothing at all will inevitably give rise to thoughts of withdrawing from the world. How, then, does the sage face the world? The sage handles affairs with an attitude of Wuwei. In this way, the world can be governed; governing it generally depends on refraining from unwarranted interference.

The world, however, is a subtle and wondrous thing and cannot be governed by force. To force action upon it is to ruin it; to insist on holding it in one’s grasp is to lose it. If one is always bent on taking action, one cannot govern the world. Once it is understood that the world cannot be governed through unwarranted interference, one should learn the principles that do not rely on deliberate study, and ultimately attain the Dao of Wuwei.

Chapter 49: The Sage Has No Fixed Mind

The sage has no fixed views, but makes the people’s minds their own. The sage treats the good with kindness, and treats those who are not good with kindness as well; thus everyone can return to goodness. The sage treats the trustworthy with sincerity, and treats those who are not trustworthy with sincerity as well; thus everyone can return to trustworthiness.

Living among the people of the world, the sage is cautious and deeply concerned, helping their minds return to simplicity. The people all watch and listen intently, while the sage treats them like children.

The sage wishes to return things to their original state, to go back to the time before birth. For this reason, the sage has no fixed thoughts. Good and evil, honesty and falsehood, are all shaped by people. I do not impose my own assumptions on them, but simply respond to the hearts of the people. When the people do good, I do not single them out for praise; when they do evil, I do not single them out for blame. As good deeds accumulate, an atmosphere of goodness naturally becomes apparent. I do not regard this as goodness pursued by design, so I treat kind people with kindness. As evil deeds accumulate, an atmosphere of evil naturally becomes apparent. I do not regard those who do wrong as beyond change by nature, and so I do not let this give rise to prejudice. Honesty and dishonesty follow the same principle. To let things follow their natural course, without adding artifice, is to treat people with De and with honesty.

In this way, goodness and its opposite, honesty and falsehood, create no partial attachments in the sage’s heart. The sage carefully helps the people of the world bring their natures into harmony, so they may return to a simple, natural state. People often cling to their own thoughts and chase after entertainment for the eyes and ears. Their senses are drawn to external things; they do not know how to turn their gaze inward, listen quietly to the heart, or hold fast to the root of all things. The sage alone is free of fixed opinions, keeps the original state of all things in mind, and returns to their source. Thus the sage treats all the people like children and guides them back to simplicity.

Chapter Fifty: Birth and Death

People move from birth toward death. Of every ten, three belong to the group who live long, three to the group who die young, and three who could have lived but move toward death through reckless action. Why is this? Because they cling too fiercely to life and strive too hard to preserve it.

I have heard that those skilled at caring for life, when walking on land, do not encounter rhinoceroses or tigers, and when entering battle, are not harmed by weapons. The rhinoceros has no place to thrust its horn, the tiger no place to use its claws and teeth, and weapons find no place to pierce. Why is this? Because such a person does not put themselves in a place where death is likely.

All things come into being through the workings of Heaven and Earth; this is called “life.” They perish as Yin-Yang changes; this is called “death.” Those skilled at caring for life are not harmed by weapons in battle. The rhinoceros has nowhere to thrust its horn, the tiger nowhere to use its claws, and blades nowhere to strike. Why is this? Because such a person does not put themselves in a place where death is likely.

All things arise from the workings of Heaven and Earth; this is called “birth.” Entering the process of Yin-Yang change is called “death.” Those who move back and forth through birth and death have not escaped the workings of Heaven and Earth, nor can they avoid the changes of Yin-Yang.

All things move between life and death. Why, then, is it said that human actions lead people toward death, and that three out of every ten people do so? Because people bring calamity upon themselves. Heaven and Earth do not destroy them, nor do ghosts and spirits harm them. Rather, they have awareness and thoughts, and their bodies are given to action. They watch life arrive but cannot refuse it; death departs, yet they cannot stop it. Why? Because, in their excessive desire to preserve health and cherish life, they keep acting and drive themselves toward death.

Only the sage holds subtle principles within and preserves an unadorned nature without. The sage does not act recklessly or contend with the world. Even when encountering fierce beasts, the sage is unharmed; even when facing weapons, the sage suffers no injury. This is because the sage has accumulated De (Virtue/Power) and reached a profound, penetrating state. External things cannot harm the sage, so there is no danger of being driven toward death.

Chapter Fifty-One, “The Dao Gives Life”:

The Dao gives life to the myriad things; De nurtures them. The myriad things…