《道德真经取善集(李霖)》

The Collection of Selected Insights on the True Classic of the Dao and Its Virtue is a twelve-volume commentary on the Classic of the Dao and Its Virtue compiled by Li Lin of the Jin dynasty. Li Lin said that he had selected the strengths of various commentators’ interpretations and assessed them in light of his own views; for this reason, he titled the work Collection of Selected Insights. It is prefaced by a preface written by Liu Yousheng. The text is based on the Yujue category of the Dongshen Cavern section in the Zhengtong Daoist Canon.

Laozi lived near the end of the Shang dynasty. Seeing social customs grow ever more corrupt, he believed excessive ornamentation was to blame. He therefore sought to restore the simplicity of ancient times and to proclaim the mysterious Dao, hoping in this way to correct the customs of his age. At times, his teachings seem to belittle benevolence and righteousness and to reject the study of ritual. Perhaps he pressed too hard in correcting what had gone astray. Confucius therefore revered him. After meeting Laozi, Confucius remarked that Laozi was as unfathomable as a dragon. Only a sage can understand another sage; that is why Confucius spoke as he did.

When Guan Yin, the official who guarded Hangu Pass, witnessed the auspicious purple Qi rising in the east, he recognized that a realized person was about to leave through the pass. He earnestly asked Laozi to leave behind his teachings, and Laozi then set down his profound words. Commentators all say that the vast Five Classics cannot compare with the concise two-part Daode Jing. This claim has good reason behind it. Zhuang Zhou and Lie Yukou developed Laozi’s teachings further, as if raising great waves upon the sea and adding extraordinary peaks to a mountain range. Yet what they said touched only the edges of the Dao and did not exhaust its meaning. To grasp its ultimate purport, one must go beyond words themselves.

During the reigns of Emperor Wen and Emperor Jing of the Han, governance prized quietude and Wuwei (non-action), and society was peaceful and prosperous. This was largely a continuation of Cao Can’s practice of following the teachings of Gai Gong. It is ample proof that the study of Dao and De can indeed guide the customs of society; it is no empty talk. Sadly, by the Jin dynasty, Daoist thought had degenerated into extravagant and baseless speculation. Wang Yan’s abstract talk undermined simple customs, while Ruan Ji’s unrestrained conduct damaged the traditional ethical order. To abandon the root and chase after branches is truly lamentable.

Fortunately, Wang Zhongyan of the Sui dynasty understood the reasons behind this. He held that the Jin dynasty’s decline after its devotion to the profound and the mysterious was not the fault of Laozi and Zhuangzi, but of later people who used their teachings poorly. Han Yu of the Tang dynasty, however, ridiculed Laozi, claiming that he made too little of benevolence and righteousness, like someone sitting in a well and looking at the sky. Alas, Han Yu, for all his talent, failed to understand the truth; it was as though his heart were deaf and blind. Even principles as towering as Mount Tai and admonitions as thundering as a storm could not make him truly see or hear. He judged Laozi unwise in a single sentence, and this has often left gentlemen sighing.

In every age, many people have devoted themselves to Laozi’s teachings, and dozens have written commentaries. This makes it difficult for readers to choose among them and difficult, too, to gather and organize them. Li Lin of Raoyang, whose courtesy name was Zongfu, was naturally calm and untroubled. From childhood into old age, he remained devoted to studying the five thousand characters of the Daode Jing. He understood the depth and value of its teachings and willingly devoted his efforts to studying them. He collected the strengths of various commentators and added his own insights, compiling them into six scrolls. It is like the eight kinds of musical instruments, each with its own tone, blending into pleasing music; or the five flavors, each distinct yet all agreeable to the palate. May this book broaden its readers’ knowledge, deepen their understanding, and help those who share its aims. Its benefit should be considerable.

Wang Bin was an old friend of Li Lin. He admired Li’s diligence and helped him fulfill his wish, so he arranged to have the book printed from woodblocks, sparing interested readers the labor of copying it out. In extending this kindness to others, does he not deserve to be called benevolent?

On the fifth day of the fifth month in the Renchen year of the Dading era, Liu Yunsheng of Hejian wrote this preface.

The source of the generation and activity of all things is called the Dao (the Way). When the Dao is embodied in me, it is called De (Virtue/Power). The Dao is mysterious and formless, its transformations difficult to fathom. De, by contrast, appears in concrete workings. The distinct De inherent in each thing all arise from the Dao. Viewed in their differences, Dao and De seem to have two names; viewed in their common ground, their substance is one.

Those with only a shallow understanding who speak of the Dao often fail to speak of De; those who speak of De, however, usually touch on the Dao as well. When Dao and De are treated as separate, their original wholeness and purity cannot be seen.

The supreme sage, mysterious and unfathomable as a dragon—Laozi—lived at the end of the Shang dynasty. Moved by the growing disorder in the principles of human nature and life, and saddened by the decline of morality, he composed the eighty-one chapters of the Dao De Jing, setting forth its profound and subtle teachings. The entire work contains no more than five thousand characters, yet its principles encompass the Three Teachings: Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism. Within, it speaks of cultivating the mind and nourishing life; without, it speaks of governing the state and bringing peace to the people. It is the guiding framework of many teachings and the foundation of all things. No principle, whether great or minute, is left out. Its wording is concise, its meaning rich, and its scope vast and profound. Since books first came into being, none has been as mysterious and subtle as this classic.

Many later writers have annotated it, but few have fully explained the principles of the whole work. Each interprets it according to personal understanding, and so each is bound to grasp some things and miss others. Those who understand Xing (nature) may reach the state of preserving the spirit and realizing the wondrous Dao, yet may not fully comprehend Ming (life-destiny). Those who understand Ming have grasped the essentials of nourishing life, yet may still not fully understand Xing. They fail to recognize that Xing and Ming should be cultivated together, and that Dao and De are one in essence.

I, Li Lin, from childhood into adulthood, recited these mysterious sayings casually, treating them only as material for the civil service examinations. Now, in old age, I wish to seek their deeper meaning and use it to cultivate my own true nature. Knowing that age has clouded my mind and that I cannot fully fathom the sage’s intent, I have selected what is best in the annotations of various authors and made my own judgments about what to accept. This is not chiefly intended to enlighten later students, but to make the text easier to consult. For this reason, I have titled the work Collected Selections of the Best. I hope readers will kindly forgive it.

Preface by Li Lin, Layman of Raoyang.

Collected Selections of the Best from the True Classic of the Dao and Its De, Volume One.

The “Dao” spoken of in the Daodejing, if it can be made clear in words and fixed in writing, is not the eternal and unchanging “constant Dao.” A name that can be spoken is likewise not an eternal and unchanging “constant name.”

Yan Zun says that the Dao one can describe is the form in which Dao and De become manifest; it is not the Dao that exists naturally, without form or trace. For example, when people travel by day, they need no lamp, because sunlight already lights the way. The state in which sunlight shines without any need for deliberate explanation is like the constant Dao, which needs no words. Lighting a path with a lamp, by contrast, is like the Dao made manifest and available for description. Whatever is recorded on bamboo slips and silk, carved into metal or stone, and passed on to others belongs to the Dao that can be spoken.

As for the Dao that can be communicated but not truly taken in, that can be experienced but not directly seen: it is its own foundation, existed before Heaven and Earth, and has remained constant since ancient times. It makes the spirits and the Heavenly Emperor manifest their powers, and brings Heaven and Earth into being. This is the constant Dao. The entire five thousand words of the Daodejing unfold from these opening lines; what they expound is the Dao’s principle, at once profound and more profound, mysterious and more mysterious.

Wang Yuanze says that names arise from things themselves. Once things have form and quantity, they can also change and decay—how could they remain forever unchanged? Only by understanding this state of being unfixed and impermanent can one grasp what is truly constant.

The first “Dao” at the beginning refers to the boundless Great Dao. The “Dao” in “that can be spoken” refers to a Dao that can be expressed in words and described. The Great Dao is empty, still, and unfathomably deep; its mysterious principles are too profound to grasp and cannot be explained in words. They can only be understood inwardly. The human mind cannot fully know it, and language cannot adequately discuss it. Each person must realize it for themselves through inner clarity. Even the word “Dao” cannot fully express the Great Dao.

Yet if a sage remained silent, people might live in accordance with the Great Dao without knowing that it existed. So, having no choice, the sage reluctantly gave it the name “Dao.”

Any principle that can be described in words rises and falls as the times change; it is not the eternal, unchanging Great Dao. Any Dao that can be explained is not the eternal, unchanging substance of the Great Dao. Only a Dao that cannot be exhausted by words can endure forever.

Principles such as benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom can be described, but they cannot remain eternally unchanged as the Great Dao does. The Great Dao cannot be spoken of; it is what makes benevolence benevolence, righteousness righteousness, propriety propriety, and wisdom wisdom. These particular norms change with the times and circumstances, while the Great Dao itself does not. The constant Dao operates naturally, responds to changes in the world, and meets the needs of the myriad things without end. It cannot be passed on through words or pursued through clever reasoning. One can only bring oneself into accord with the natural transformations, keep one’s light within and avoid showing an edge. It may seem to be Wuwei (non-action), yet nothing remains unaccomplished. Its utmost reaches can be understood only through silent, inward experience.

The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth; the named is the source of the myriad things.

Sima Guang said: “Heaven and Earth are the greatest of things that have form. The beginning of Heaven and Earth must have arisen from ‘nonbeing,’ so the beginning of Heaven and Earth is called ‘nonbeing.’ The myriad things generate one another through their forms, and their generation must be grounded in ‘being,’ so the source of the myriad things is called ‘being.’”

Lü Jifu says: “‘Nameless’ refers to the Dao. It is the source from which Heaven and Earth begin, which is why it is said, ‘Namelessness is the beginning of Heaven and Earth.’ In the time before the Great Beginning, even ‘nothingness’ did not yet exist, nor was there any notion of ‘namelessness.’ Since nothing had yet appeared, one could not even speak of ‘the One’; ‘namelessness’ is the source from which everything first comes into being. The One appeared, but had not yet taken on any concrete form. This is what is meant by ‘the beginning of Heaven and Earth.’ Since it is already called the One, how can it be said to be entirely nameless? All things receive life from this nameless source. The power that generates all things is called De (Virtue/Power). Thus, ‘the named’ is the mother of all things. The saying that all things receive life from the One means precisely this.

“‘Nameless’ refers to the Dao. The Dao is eternally without form or name; it gives birth to Heaven and Earth and is therefore their beginning. This expresses the Dao’s subtle, elusive aspect. ‘The named’ refers to Heaven and Earth. Each has its own form and place, and all things take shape through them. Heaven and Earth are therefore the mother of all things. This expresses the Dao in its manifest aspect. Because Heaven and Earth have form and place, they belong to ‘the named.’ Heaven and Earth are called the mother of all things because they bear the Qi of Yin-Yang and give birth to all things, enabling them to grow and mature, just as a mother raises her child.

“‘Constantly without desire, one observes its subtlety; constantly with desire, one observes its limits.’ This means: one continually observes the Dao’s subtlety through emptiness, and continually observes its boundaries and workings through the manifest world of formed things. ‘Limits’ refers to the range and traces of the Dao as it becomes manifest.

“Su Ziyou says: The Dao manifests from a nameless, formless state as Heaven and Earth. Only after Heaven and Earth each take their place do names begin to arise. Heaven and Earth then spread out and generate all things. Once all things multiply and grow, their names become too numerous to count. Thus, namelessness is the Dao’s essence, while the named is the Dao’s function.

“The sage understands the Dao and puts this understanding to work for the world. He enters into concrete things, yet is always able to remain grounded in emptiness and so observe the Dao’s subtlety. He recognizes the Dao’s ultimate emptiness, yet is always able to apply it in practice and so observe the scope and workings of its manifestation. If one acts only among manifest things without understanding their subtle root, one becomes shallow and lacks refinement. If one remains only with subtle principles without understanding how they work in practice, one becomes overly abstruse and unable to engage with the world.”

When things stir the heart, desires arise; this is human nature. Desire draws people away from stillness, toward the sights and sounds that appeal to the eyes and ears, and consumes their thoughts in planning and action. Without desire, the heart can grow still and observe the beginnings of all things under Heaven and Earth. This is called “subtlety.” Thus, one who often remains in a state without desire may be called “small”; here, “small” means fine and delicate. When desire is present, thoughts begin to stir, and one observes the source from which all things arise. This is called “manifestation”—the boundaries and traces through which things appear. All things return to the Dao, yet no one knows what governs it; therefore, the Dao may be called “great.” “Manifestation” points to what appears outwardly and extends broadly. One without desire can perceive the Dao’s subtle, mysterious aspect; one with desire can see only its coarser, more visible traces.

These two ways of observing both arise from the human heart, though they have different names. Together, they may be called “mystery.”

Wen Gong says: “Mystery” is neither being nor nonbeing; it is a state of utmost subtlety.

The “two” here refer to desire and the absence of desire. “Arising from the same source” means that both come from the human heart; “having different names” means that their names are distinct. Though their names differ, their essence may not: desire and the absence of desire can ultimately both be called “mystery.” Mystery is also like black among the colors: it belongs to the same category of color as red. Heaven appears in a deep, shadowy hue, within which Yin and Yang are united. Desire and the absence of desire are both called “mystery” because mystery contains both aspects of Yin and Yang.

“Mystery upon mystery” is the gateway to the many wonders.

The Imperial Commentary quotes the Suwen, part of the classic of Chinese medicine, the Huangdi Neijing: “Mystery gives rise to wondrous transformations.” The Changes calls a state that is subtle and minute “mystery.” Mystery is the color of Heaven: when color appears, people see its form, but may not perceive the hidden source behind it. “Mystery upon mystery” names the root that gives all things their forms, yet remains hidden and difficult to see. All things possess a mysterious principle: Heaven’s movement, Earth’s stillness, human spiritual awareness, and the flourishing growth of the myriad things all belong to this wonder. Since all of it emerges from mystery, mystery is called the gateway to the many wonders.

The Yijing says, “The changes of Yin and Yang together are called the Dao.” Yin and Yang both have their source in the One, and the One is born of the Dao. What is called the “Mysterious” is the union of Yin and Yang with the One; at a deeper level, the Mysterious is the Dao itself. “The myriad subtle wonders” refers to the subtle principles that belong to each thing. Since the subtle principles of all things come from the Dao, the Dao is called “the gateway to the myriad wonders.” This chapter speaks of the constant, true Dao: those who understand it can experience it for themselves, but cannot express it fully in words. By observing both the manifest and the hidden aspects of things, one can draw close to the constant, true Dao. The Most High (Laozi) placed this chapter at the beginning of the book to sum up the meaning of the entire classic and show that the foundation of the Great Dao lies in “the Mysterious upon the Mysterious.”

Chapter Two: All Under Heaven Knows

When all under heaven knows beauty as beauty, ugliness appears alongside it. When all know goodness as goodness, evil appears alongside it.

Imperial Commentary: The Dao itself has no distinct form—how could there be beauty or ugliness? Human nature is originally one—how could there be goodness or evil? Once beauty exists, ugliness becomes its counterpart; once goodness exists, evil becomes its counterpart. People of the world regard strange and marvelous things as beautiful, and foul, decayed things as ugly. Yet the marvelous can turn into the foul, and the foul can turn into the marvelous. How, then, can beauty and ugliness be clearly distinguished? What was once considered right may now be considered wrong; what is discarded today may be taken up again in the future. In view of this, how should goodness and evil be chosen between? The sage experiences the “true emptiness” that is nonetheless ever-present, and can remain in constant emptiness amid wondrous activity. Distinctions such as beauty and ugliness, good and evil, cannot be fixed and separated as one might wish. How, then, could the sage be entangled by ugliness or evil?

Wang Yuanze says: Ugliness and evil arise alongside beauty and goodness. Even when something seems beautiful and good, ugliness and evil are already contained within it. By the time they come to light and one realizes this, it is already too late.

Beauty and ugliness are distinguished through deluded thoughts and emotions; good and bad, too, become opposites when one departs from one’s original nature. Beauty is what people’s feelings delight in. To insist on what counts as beautiful shows that the mind already favors something. Once the mind takes sides, that fixation becomes a burden within it, giving rise to what is called ugliness.

The River Earl was once pleased with himself, believing that all the world’s beautiful sights were his to behold. Later, when he saw the great sea, he lamented to the sea god Ruo how limited his understanding had been. This is a similar example.

Goodness is what people consider worth pursuing. To insist on what counts as good shows that one’s original nature already desires something. Once desire arises, pursuing goodness can lead one away from the Dao, and this too becomes bad. Boyi regarded fame as something worth pursuing, and in the end starved to death beneath Mount Shouyang. He, too, departed from his original nature. This is another similar example.

The beauty of the Great Dao is true beauty. The realm of supreme beauty does not cling to beauty; it is calm and without flavor. Zhuangzi said, “Calm and boundless, it is followed by every kind of beauty.” The goodness of the Great Dao is supreme goodness. Supreme goodness does not cling to goodness, and so it contains every kind of good. Zhuangzi also said, “Let go of goodness, and goodness arises of itself.” This chapter treats the Great Dao as uniting all things into one. It warns that people may cling to beauty and goodness and fail to understand the constant Dao. For this reason, it appears here, and its meaning is close to that of “Discussion on Making All Things Equal” in the Zhuangzi.

Thus, being and nonbeing give rise to each other; difficult and easy bring each other about; long and short define each other; high and low depend on each other; tone and sound harmonize with each other; and before and after follow each other.

In the time of Great Change (Taiyi), when Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things had not yet differentiated, all phenomena were one undivided whole. Once the Two Principles (Yin-Yang) emerged, the myriad things stood in relation to one another. These six pairs of opposites are the source of the interwoven changes of the world, the many thoughts that arise, and the branching of different paths. People become immersed in them and find it hard to break free.

Being comes forth from nonbeing, and being returns to nonbeing; thus being and nonbeing give rise to each other. Only after experiencing danger do we know how easy it is to walk on level ground; thus difficulty and ease bring each other about. Long and short reveal their difference through one another, like measurements. High and low set each other off, like mountains and marshes. When a sound is struck, an echo follows; thus tones and sounds answer one another. When a body moves, its shadow follows; thus front and back accompany one another.

Yin-Yang moves, the seasons take turns, and the myriad things transform: sometimes they arise suddenly, sometimes they vanish in an instant. When affairs are difficult, it seems that one must act to bring order to the world; when they are easy, it seems that Wuwei (non-action) allows one to be at ease. What is naturally long should not be cut short, and what is naturally short should not be lengthened. Heaven is naturally high, and Earth naturally low. Strike the gong note, and the gong note answers; strike the jiao note, and the jiao note answers. Spring comes first, and summer follows; the elder comes before the younger. These opposing circumstances all embody the Dao, yet they have already strayed far from it.

Sima Guang said: “Whatever has a visible form cannot be entirely the same as everything else. Difference leads to contention, contention to disorder, and disorder to trouble. That is why the sage does not value such things.”

Therefore, the sage conducts affairs through Wuwei and teaches without relying on words.

Gu Huan said: “The sage follows the way of Heaven and lets the myriad things develop naturally, without deliberate contrivance. His mind remains settled and still. He lets what is good and beautiful rest naturally in its proper place, without contention. Thus he is not drawn along or unsettled by these six kinds of opposition.”

Whenever one acts, there will be success and failure; whenever one speaks, one may speak aptly or make a mistake. Thus one is inevitably entangled by one’s words and deeds. The sage conducts affairs by using Wuwei (non-action) to guide and teach, and by using silence to accomplish things. Through Wuwei and silence, the sage brings teaching to completion and puts the Great Dao into practice. The mind remains still and at ease, never entangled by speech or action. The people of the world can therefore return to the constant Dao and recover their simplicity. Because the sage is free of entanglement, even while dwelling amid the transformations of Yin-Yang, he is not changed by creation and transformation. How, then, could things that stand in opposition to one another disturb him? The Daodejing (Classic of the Way and Its Virtue) says: “The teaching without words and the benefit of Wuwei—few in the world are able to attain them.”

All things arise, and the sage does not reject them.

The Imperial Commentary says: When all things move, the sage responds in keeping with their unfolding. It is like a mirror reflecting forms: beauty and ugliness alike appear. It is also like a valley answering sounds: pleasing and unpleasant sounds alike carry through. Neither the mirror nor the valley rejects anything.

“All things” here does not mean only ten thousand kinds of things; “ten thousand” is used to signify a great multitude. “Arise” means to come forth and move. Each thing moves according to itself, and the sage lets each fully express its nature, neither turning it away nor obstructing it. This is because the sage’s mind is empty, clear, and impartial, with no inclination to choose or reject. If the mind holds on to preferences, how could it avoid rejecting things amid the myriad forms of the world and their differences in beauty and ugliness?

He lets all things grow without claiming them as his own, acts without relying on his own power, and accomplishes his work without taking credit.

The Zuanwei says: All things grow naturally, each changing independently; they do not do so in order to become the sage’s possessions. Each pursues its own activity in accordance with its nature, without relying on the sage’s virtue. When the work is complete and affairs are settled, the Great Dao extends throughout all things. The sage’s spirit roams Mount Gushe, the legendary mountain of immortals, and he does not place himself above the people. This is the sage’s fully realized virtue.

All things grow naturally, each attaining fullness and flourishing. Each carries its own work to completion, allowing the Great Dao to reach all things. The sage does not place himself above the people. Things grow and act of themselves, each setting its own nature and life in order. The sage attributes the achievements to all things and does not let the three matters mentioned above become a source of entanglement. This is why it is said, “When the work is done, he does not claim it.” With a sense of self, one takes credit; once one takes credit, one’s position also changes. Emperor Yao had accomplished great works, yet still felt that he had fallen short.

Only by not claiming merit for oneself can merit be kept from departing.

Su Ziyou said: A sage may live in poverty and low status without being troubled by them; may live in wealth and honor without being entangled by them. This is “not dwelling”: not treating external circumstances as something on which to rely. If one is not attached to these things, how could they leave? This is the highest state of dwelling in what one has attained.

The Honglie (another name for the Huainanzi) records that after the Chu general Zifa captured Cai, King Xuan of Chu went out to the suburbs to welcome him, granted him a hundred qing of land, and bestowed on him the rank of Zhigui, a high title in Chu. Zifa declined, saying, “Governing the state and establishing its laws so that the other lords come to pay allegiance are the king’s virtue. Issuing commands so that the enemy flees before the army has even fought is the general’s authority. Forming ranks, engaging the enemy, and defeating them are the soldiers’ strength. To claim a title and stipend for oneself on the strength of the people’s achievements does not accord with the Way of benevolence and righteousness.” He therefore refused the reward.

Thus, one may accomplish great things without claiming them as one’s own. Precisely because one does not claim them, they do not depart. This chapter speaks of recognizing the constant Dao: not clinging to distinctions such as beautiful and ugly, good and evil, and not being swayed by the many forms of opposition and differentiation. Only the sage understands this. Therefore, the sage acts through Wuwei (non-action), teaches without words, and attributes achievements to the myriad things without claiming them. The Dao then remains within, never departing.

Chapter Three: Do Not Exalt the Worthy

If worthy and capable people are not deliberately exalted, the people will not compete with one another.

Wen Gong said: Worthy and capable people should be given important responsibilities; everyone understands this. But when the practice reaches its excesses and becomes rife with abuses, it turns into a scramble for reputation and often leads to disorder. Laozi therefore offered a corrective, hoping people would value genuine ability and virtue rather than exalt empty reputations. “Worthy” refers to people whose abilities surpass the ordinary. If those in high positions deliberately distinguish and exalt the worthy, granting them high rank and generous stipends, and rewarding them with carriages and fine clothing, the people will yearn for these outward signs of reputation and compete to pursue them. How could they not contend? The sage does not refuse to employ the worthy; rather, the worthy and the unworthy are each allowed to occupy their proper place and are appointed according to their abilities. The sage simply does not deliberately elevate or advertise the worthy. Zhuangzi said, “When the worthy are promoted, the people will jostle one another.”

If hard-to-obtain precious goods are not prized, the people will not steal.

Esteeming the worthy leads people to compete with one another in ability and intelligence, until the world falls into disorder and teachings such as those of the Confucians and Mohists arise in profusion. Valuing possessions increases people’s desires; some may even turn to theft in broad daylight, digging holes to steal goods at noon. If the worthy are not held up for admiration, people can keep to their own proper roles and stop boasting and competing for superiority. If precious possessions are not prized, people can rest content with their nature, feel no covetousness, and therefore have no cause to become thieves.

Gold and jade are possessions that are difficult to obtain. When those in high positions regard them as precious, they will mine for gold in the mountains and seek pearls in the depths. The people then suffer from being unable to obtain such things. Since the pursuit of wealth has no point of satisfaction, they may eventually turn to theft. The sage does not reject all possessions. Rather, people are allowed to farm for food and weave for clothing, and to be content when they have enough to eat and wear. What they should not prize are rare treasures. Thus, people can rest content with their nature and do not become thieves. Confucius said, “If you yourself have no greed, then even if you reward others for stealing, they will not steal.”

When people are not shown things that might stir their greed, their minds are not disturbed.

Once people’s desires exceed what their nature and livelihood require, they will rob and deceive others in pursuit of what they want, stopping at nothing. When Bo Yi and Shu Qi, worthy men from the end of the Yin dynasty, saw fame and honor as attainable, they chose to starve to death beneath Mount Shouyang. When Dao Zhi, a legendary robber, saw profit within reach, he ran rampant around Dongling. In the pursuit of desire, people grow hot as if consumed by fire, or cold as if frozen by ice and snow. Resentment, agitation, and arrogance then arise in their hearts, leaving them unable to accord with the Dao.

The sage neither pursues profit nor deliberately avoids misfortune; neither clings to long life nor grieves over Heaven’s mandate; neither takes pride in prominence nor feels ashamed of hardship. What, then, could he insist on pursuing? When desires and deliberations do not arise, the heart remains clear and still. It responds when things happen, is unobstructed in stillness, and is not drawn along by desire in action. Who, then, could disturb his heart?

The exemplary person seeks virtue, while the petty person devotes himself to acquiring wealth. If people do not praise the worthy and capable or pursue rare and valuable goods, their desires will not come to the surface, and the people’s hearts will not be thrown into confusion. Fu Yi’s Yinyi records that an old edition has “cause” in place of “make,” meaning “cause the people’s hearts not to be confused.”

Therefore, when the sage governs the state,

Heshang Gong says that the principles by which the sage governs the state are the same as those by which he cultivates himself.

He makes people’s minds empty and still, and their bellies full.

Cao Daochong says that when the mind is empty, still, and clear, the spirit and Qi can settle, and the Dao can be preserved. When the belly is full, Jing and Qi can be safeguarded, and life can be prolonged. From the perspective of self-cultivation, if the mind harbors no preferences and remains empty and still, there is no particular praise of the worthy and capable. If the belly has room and is filled, there is no craving for more.

He makes people’s ambitions restrained and their sinews and bones strong.

The Imperial Commentary says that when ambition is excessive, some people ceaselessly strive for fame, some pursue wealth with insatiable greed, and others boast of their achievements and display their abilities. All of this takes them farther and farther from the Dao. The sage always places himself below others, and they esteem him; he always puts himself last, and they let him take the lead. To know the value of strength yet remain content with weakness, and to know the value of honor yet remain content with lowliness and disgrace—this is to restrain one’s ambition. For the body to remain vigorous over a long life, as in the case of Guangchengzi, who lived to the age of twelve hundred without bodily decline, is to have strong sinews and bones.

Liu Zhongping says that an empty, still mind and restrained ambition nurture the spirit, while a full belly and strong sinews and bones preserve Jing and Qi. Here, “ambition” refers to what the heart tends toward; those who abide by the Dao do not let their ambition stir recklessly. “Bones” are where the marrow resides: when the marrow is abundant, the sinews and bones are strong. Another interpretation holds that an empty, still mind makes the belly full, and restrained ambition strengthens the sinews and bones. Yet another holds that an empty, still mind restrains ambition, while a full belly strengthens the sinews and bones.

He constantly keeps the people from becoming absorbed in clever knowledge or inflaming their craving for more.

Zhuangzi said: Keep people in a state undisturbed by delusive knowledge, and their De will not become scattered. Let them have few desires, and this is called simplicity. When simplicity is preserved, the people’s nature can find its proper place. In governing the world, the sage need only let the people retain their own nature. Excessive knowledge harms people’s inborn nature and their proper way of life; excessive desire disrupts their nature and emotions. If this is called good governance, what could be more chaotic? Therefore, the people should be kept from having too much clever knowledge and too many grasping desires.

Wang Yuanzhe said: Clever understanding can easily give rise to false views; desire leads people to seek things outside themselves. When both are removed, one’s nature and feelings can settle. The ruler does not exalt the reputation of the worthy and capable. Instead, by quieting the people’s minds and weakening their urge to outdo one another, the ruler teaches them not to compete for admiration. Nor does the ruler prize material goods. Instead, by teaching the people to fill their bellies and strengthen their bones, the ruler keeps them from developing covetous desires.

Let those who think themselves clever not dare to act recklessly.

Lü Jifu said: Those with clever skills understand that the ruler does not exalt the reputation of the worthy and capable, nor prize wealth. Reckless action brings them no benefit, so they dare not act recklessly.

Govern through Wuwei (non-action), and nothing will be left unguided.

Prince Shu said: Act without fixating on any particular aim; appear to do nothing, yet there is nothing that cannot be accomplished. The sage governs through Wuwei, and so there is nothing in the world that is not well governed.

This chapter explains that sages follow the Dao (the Way), governing the state through Wuwei (non-action) and tending to their own cultivation. They do not exalt those deemed worthy or value possessions. They quiet the mind and strengthen the body, lessen desires and fortify the sinews and bones. This is the sage’s Wuwei method of cultivating the self in accord with the Dao. When the people are led away from contention and return to a simple, unknowing state, and away from theft and back from greed, the world can be brought to order.

The Dao De Jing says: “The Dao constantly follows its own nature, yet nothing is left undone. If lords and kings can hold fast to this principle, all things will transform of themselves.” Governing the world through Wuwei was how Shun became emperor; ruling with ease, without burdensome interference, and bringing peace throughout the realm was how King Wu of Zhou established his royal enterprise. Thus, when emperors practice Wuwei, the world’s work can be accomplished.

The first three chapters together express a single idea. The first says, “The Dao that can be spoken of,” meaning that a Dao expressed in words is not the eternal, unchanging Dao. The true, eternal Dao lies beyond language and named forms; those who realize it will naturally understand. Once one has realized the Dao, one no longer clings to distinctions between beauty and ugliness, good and evil. That is why the text next says, “All under Heaven know.” Since one is no longer stirred by relative conditions, judgments of right and wrong, beauty and ugliness, no longer lodge in the heart. That is why the text next says, “Do not exalt the worthy.” When worthy reputations are not exalted and possessions are not prized, the mind can become empty and tranquil; when the mind is empty and tranquil, the spirit can be nourished and kept within. This is the highest achievement of cultivation in Dao and De (Virtue/Power). Scholars who thoroughly understand these three chapters have already grasped most of the essential meaning of the entire classic.

Chapter Four: The Dao Is Empty

The Dao is empty and formless, yet in its activity it seems never to be exhausted.

The Imperial Commentary says: “The Dao has feeling, principle, and integrity, and so it can function; it is Wuwei and formless, and so it cannot be filled.”

“Chong” means balance and harmony. The Dao’s activity is to lower what is high and raise what is low, diminish what is in excess and make up what is lacking. Whatever the circumstances, it brings things back to balance. The Dao’s essence is empty and cannot be filled, yet it pervades everything without limit. It nourishes the myriad things but does not claim them as its own. That is why it seems never to be full.

How profound! The Dao is like the source of all things.

Sima Guang says: “Abyss” means so deep that it cannot be measured, yet it is often the foundation on which all things depend. “Abyss” can also mean water that flows back upon itself. The Shuowen Jiezi says, “An abyss is water that turns back upon itself.” When water turns in a whirl, it seems deep and still; when it turns into a deep pool, it becomes motionless and ceases to flow, thus returning to wholeness and unity. Here, “xi” is a particle used in recitation.

The Zhuangzi says that still water best reveals the character of an abyss. Deep and still, unmixed with external things: this is the substance of the Dao. Because it is deep, nothing can fathom it; because it is still, nothing can disturb it. The Dao’s substance is deep and quiet, as though it were the source from which all things arise. Yet the Dao does not depend on things; rather, things take the Dao as their root. So here we can only say “as though.” The classic uses the word “seems” because it does not presume to describe the Dao with absolute certainty.

People already possess this Dao. To experience it, there is no need to seek it elsewhere. Simply draw in your sharp edges and resolve your turmoil, keep your own radiance within, and live among ordinary people without setting yourself apart. Then the Dao will appear of itself.

Draw in your sharp edges, resolve your turmoil, keep your radiance within, and live among the world.

Sima Guang says: Showing one’s sharp edges is something the Dao abhors; a tangle of affairs is something it rejects; excessive brilliance harms the Dao; being content with a low position and not competing for prominence is what the Dao values.

When the mind chases after things, it becomes “sharp”; you should draw it in and not let it drive you. When external things arrive and stir the mind, they create turmoil; you should resolve it and not let the mind fall into confusion. Draw in your sharp edges and resolve your turmoil, and your temperament will settle; your own natural nature will grow full and shine with radiance. Even when you have this radiance, live among all things without standing out. This is “having light without dazzling.” Keep your inner nature true, and do not depart from the ways of ordinary life outwardly. Live among others without being tainted by them. This is following things as they are and moving with the changes of the world.

So deep and still! The Dao seems to have always been.

Guo Xiang says: “Being” means existence. The Dao is deep and quiet, unchanged from antiquity to the present, and constant from beginning to end; hence it is said to “be.” Though it exists, it has no visible form, so it is said to “seem” to exist.

If people can accomplish the four things described above, they can remain clear and tranquil, in a state of constant stillness. But if they take this “existence” to be something fixed and definite, then it is no longer the Dao. The word “seems” here may indicate that the Dao’s existence cannot be definitively or fixedly described.

I do not know exactly what it is, nor do I know where it came from, so I can only say that it “seems” to be this way.

“I do not know whose descendant it is.”

Wang Yuanzhe says: This is what is now called the “substance within the Dao.” It seems to have a source; yet though it has a source, it is vast and empty, without form. Hence the statement, “I do not know whose descendant it is.”

The meaning is: I do not know where it came from, nor who could call it a child.

“It existed before the image and the Emperor.”

The Imperial Commentary explains: “Image” refers to the first traces in which things appear; “Emperor” is the divine power that governs how things respond. Things come first, and then traces appear; once the spirits manifest, the myriad things display their wondrous transformations. The “image and the Emperor” already mark the beginning and governing power of things, yet the Dao in fact precedes them. When Zhuangzi says, “It spirits the spirits and the Emperor, and gives birth to Heaven and Earth,” he is referring to the same idea. “Image” is the sign that visible things are emerging; “Emperor” is the exalted ruler among the myriad things. Even at the level of the image and the Emperor, the Dao still comes before them.

This chapter says that the Dao works through the “center.” Its substance is empty, still, and never overflows; it is the fundamental ruler of the myriad things, existing before images and divine rulers.

Chapter Five: Heaven and Earth

Heaven and Earth show no partial kindness; they treat the myriad things as straw dogs used in sacrifice. The sage, too, shows no partial kindness; the sage treats the people as straw dogs used in sacrifice.

The Imperial Commentary explains: A favor may bring harm, and harm may also arise from a favor. If kindness is treated as a favor, harm may follow from it. Heaven and Earth in relation to the myriad things, and the sage in relation to the people, simply follow their natural course. They harbor no partial affection and seek no deliberate advantage, so their way cannot be summed up by the usual notion of “kindness.”

Straw dogs are sacrificial objects: they are used in the ritual and discarded when it is over. The myriad things grow of themselves, and the people govern themselves; Heaven and Earth and the sage do not impose their own intentions upon them.

Benevolence means caring for others and benefiting all things. To be “not benevolent” means to care impartially, without favoring one side; it does not mean being cold or cruel.

Heaven and Earth give life to and nourish all things, following the natural course of things without favoring one thing or seeking benefit for themselves. The straw dogs used in sacrifice—ritual objects woven from straw—are placed in bamboo baskets and covered with embroidered silk. Before the ritual, the officiant reverently attends to them after observing purification rites. When the ritual is over, passersby trample their heads and backs, and woodcutters use their straw bodies as kindling. They are treated with solemnity and then discarded. This is not because Heaven and Earth, or people, love or hate them; it is simply how circumstances unfold. Heaven and Earth treat all things this way, and sages treat the people this way too. Thus Heaven and Earth show no personal kindness, yet bring about vast beneficence; sages do not bestow benevolence out of partiality, yet bring about great benevolence.

Isn’t the space between Heaven and Earth like a bellows and a flute?

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang said: “Tuo” means bellows, and “yue” means flute. The bellows set the air in motion, while the flute channels the airflow to produce sound. Both can function and respond because their insides are empty and they have no private intent.

Wang Yuanzhe said: The bellows and flute are empty inside, so they can respond to things outside them. When something outside affects them, they respond; once they have responded, they do not keep what they responded to in mind. Heaven and Earth toward all things, and sages toward the people, likewise respond to circumstances as they arise. They are not burdened by what is before them, nor do they hold on to what has passed. That is why, like the bellows and flute, their activity has no end.

The Dao has no fixed form. Through the balanced, flowing Qi of harmony, it sets Heaven and Earth in motion and gives life to and nourishes all things. The bellows use airflow to move their mechanism; the flute uses airflow to make sound. Because they are empty, they can receive and respond to things, giving rise to all forms and sounds. Comparing Heaven and Earth and sages to the bellows and flute therefore also means that, being empty, still, and impartial, they can respond to things.

Though empty, they are never exhausted; once in motion, their function wells up without end.

Wang Bi said: The bellows and flute are hollow inside. They have no feelings and make no deliberate effort. Thus they may seem empty, yet they are never exhausted; once set in motion, their function never runs dry.

Wang Yuanzhe said: “Emptiness” refers to their underlying nature; “movement” refers to their function.

Too many words can lead to exhaustion. Better to hold fast to inner emptiness and stillness.

The bellows is empty at its center, without private intent or deliberate action. Though it is hollow, it cannot be compressed to the point of exhaustion; though it moves continually, it is never spent.

Wang Yuanzhe says: “Empty” describes its substance, while “moving” describes its function.

Too much talk can lead instead to difficulty. Better to keep to the center within.

The Imperial Commentary says: Guard the heart-mind with care, restrain the activity of the senses toward the outside, withdraw the gaze and quiet the hearing, then return inward to observe the original mind of Heaven and Earth. This is called “keeping to the center.”

Wang Bi says: If one does not take as a model the emptiness and stillness of Heaven and Earth, and does not respond without intention like the bellows, one’s actions will fail to accord with what is called forth, and one’s words will miss their proper moment. Then words and actions will run counter to the order of things, and one will repeatedly fall into difficulty. Better to hold Dao and De within, and embrace unity without wavering. This is called “keeping to the center.”

This chapter cautions people to guard the heart-mind rather than speak at length. It begins by saying that Heaven and Earth operate without partiality, uses the bellows as an image in the middle, and concludes that excessive speech leads to difficulty. It teaches people to speak by taking Heaven and Earth’s unintentional way as their model: remain inwardly empty like the bellows and respond naturally when something calls forth a response. In this way, one avoids the fault of saying too much. Rather than invite trouble with excessive speech, it is better to remain silent and keep to the center within.

Chapter Six: The Valley Spirit

The Valley Spirit never dies.

The Imperial Commentary says: Where there is form, there is flourishing and decline; where there is a fixed allotment, there is success and failure. When form and allotment are both present, life and death are distinguished—this is the constant order of the myriad things. A valley responds to every movement and stillness, yet remains empty. The wondrous power transforms and gives life to the myriad things, yet remains still. In the realm of what is true and constant, it is one with the Dao; it is not constrained by form or confined by a fixed allotment, and so it gives life without end. It is like the sun and moon, which have moved without ceasing since ancient times; it is also like the Northern Dipper, whose course has never strayed since ancient times. Thus it is said to “never die.”

Heshang Gong says: “Valley” carries the meaning of nurturing. If people can nurture their spirit, they can live long. Here, “spirit” refers to the spirits of the Five Viscera: the liver stores the hun, the lungs the po, the heart the spirit, the kidneys the essence, and the spleen the intent. When all five viscera are damaged, the five spirits depart.

Sima Guang says that the mind is empty, so it is called a “valley”; its workings are unfathomable, so it is called “spirit.” According to ancient teaching, the liver stores the Hun, the lungs store the Po, the heart stores the Shen, the kidneys store the Jing, and the spleen stores the will. When all five organs are damaged, the five mental faculties disperse as well.

He also says that Heaven and Earth have an end, but the Dao has no limit; hence it is called “deathless.”

Wang Yuanzhe says that a valley can respond to all things without being depleted, while the changes of spirit are impossible to fathom. All things receive life from me, yet I myself have neither birth nor death: this is the “Valley Spirit.” To call it “spirit” already says as much as can be said; adding “valley” shows that it can be empty and yet full, and can contain all things and respond to them. Its life-force flows without ceasing, so it is called “deathless.”

This is called the “Mysterious Female.” “Mysterious” means profound and subtle; “female” originally refers to a female being, but here it is a metaphor for the source that nurtures all things.

The Imperial Commentary says that all things receive life from “nonbeing,” then take form through the workings of “being.” Formless and without appearance, it is the wondrous substance; without a fixed location, it is the source from which all things receive life. “Mysterious” is like the color of Heaven, remote and profound; “female” belongs to the nature of Earth, through which all things take form. “Valley Spirit” serves as a metaphor for the Dao’s constant, unchanging aspect, while “Mysterious Female” explains the wonder of its creation of all things.

Wang Yuanzhe says that the Valley Spirit gives life to all things, while the Mysterious Female gives them form. Yin-Yang arises from this, as do Heaven and Earth, yet the two are originally one. Insofar as it gives life, it is called the “Valley Spirit”; insofar as it gives form, it is called the “Mysterious Female.”

Cao Daochong says that “mysterious” means profound and unseen, with wondrous power concealed within; “female” means empty and still, with primordial Qi concealed within. It is the source of Yin-Yang and the origin of Heaven and Earth.

“Valley” also carries the meaning of nourishment. A valley is empty, so it can respond; it responds to all things without clinging to what it responds to. A valley is empty, so it can contain; it contains all things without accumulating or transforming them. The point here is that the key to nourishing the spirit lies in emptiness and stillness; the way of deathlessness lies within the “Mysterious Female.”

The “Gate of the Mysterious Female” is the source of Heaven, Earth, and all things.

Zhuangzi says that although all things display signs of life, their source cannot be seen; although they come into being, no gateway can be found from which they emerge. Those who can see this source must be sages. Thus, the “gate of the Mysterious Female” is the root of Heaven and Earth. Heaven and Earth are above and below all things, and in themselves have no order of precedence. But if we speak of the order in which the Great Dao brings forth all things, Heaven and Earth come first, followed by all things. Yet Heaven and Earth themselves emerge from the Mysterious Female. Who, then, can see the source that existed before Heaven and Earth?

The Heshang Gong commentary says that “root” means origin. The “gate of the Mysterious Female” is the gateway leading to the origin of Heaven and Earth, and the place where primordial Qi circulates and moves back and forth.

The Zuanwei says that the earlier phrase “the valley spirit does not die” urges people to nurture the spirit, while “the gate of the Mysterious Female” here explains the method for refining the body. Only by refining both spirit and body to perfection can one unite with the Dao.

Cao Daochong says that “Mysterious” is the essential nature of Heaven, while “Female” is the breath of Earth. Heaven provides the fundamental conditions for the generation of all things, manifesting as subtle radiance; Earth is like a mother, conceiving and nurturing all things until they take concrete form. Vast though they are, Heaven and Earth both have their source in Dao and De, and embody Yin-Yang. That is why they are called the root of Heaven and Earth.

Heshang Gong explains “continuous, as if it were present” to mean that the breath passing through the nose is fine and prolonged, seeming to exist and yet almost not to exist. Wang Yuanze says that “continuous” means unbroken. The generative activity of the spirit and the Mysterious Female is inexhaustible, yet seems at once present and absent, so that its actual existence is difficult to determine.

“To use it without exhaustion” means that this fundamental activity can be put to use without being depleted or wearied.

The Imperial Commentary says: The source of all things is deep and firm, continuing unbroken from ancient times. It is like a flame passed on without end; people do not know when it will be exhausted. This is called “continuous, as though it were present”: it goes on without interruption, seeming to exist yet difficult to see. Heaven and Earth arise naturally in their vastness, allowing the One Qi—the primordial energy that forms Heaven, Earth, and all things—to move of itself. The earth brings things forth in an instant, allowing all forms to multiply of themselves. The Qian trigram, which symbolizes Heaven, reveals its patterns with ease; the Kun trigram, which symbolizes Earth, accomplishes its work simply. None of this is obtained by deliberate exertion, so what is there to weary oneself over?

The Lord of the River says: The breath should be used gently and freely, neither hurried nor forced.

Su Ziyou says: “Continuous” means subtle yet unbroken; “as though it were present” means existing yet difficult to see. One who can do this may use it throughout the day without feeling weary.

When the mind and spirit are settled and the breath is fine, follow their natural course and do not force the Qi. What is there to weary oneself over? The point of this chapter is that by emptying and quieting the mind and nourishing the spirit, one can attain longevity within the Mysterious Female, the subtle gateway that symbolizes the source of Heaven, Earth, and all things. The Mysterious Female is the foundation of Heaven and Earth and the ancestral source of Yin-Yang; it stores spirit and primordial energy, and all things depend on it for their generation. The principle by which all things arise continues without end. When one uses it without strain, one can gain and accomplish something. Most commentators explain this through external things; only the Lord of the River, in his Collected Subtleties, explains it through inner principles. Since the inner and outer interpretations can be understood together, both are included.

Chapter Seven: Heaven and Earth Endure

Heaven and Earth endure.

Su Ziyou says: Although Heaven and Earth are vast, they still remain within the bounds of form and number; therefore, even their longevity has an end.

Zhang Junxiang says: Heaven is strong and vast, covering all things; it passes through past and present without collapsing. Earth is yielding and substantial, bearing all things; it remains firm throughout.

The words of the Most High (Laozi) use the Heaven and Earth that people can see to explain endurance. The ultimate form of endurance is what is called “the beginning of Heaven and Earth.”

Heaven and Earth can endure because they do not live for themselves; for this reason, they are able to live long.

Wang Yuanze says: If one deliberately pursues life, one comes to cling to being alive. Once this attachment takes hold, life itself becomes a burden. Only by not making survival a deliberate goal can one avoid clinging to being alive. Then, dwelling within a body, one is no longer burdened by the need to survive even while the body remains, and can naturally endure for a long time. Heaven and Earth do not deliberately manage their own survival in order to seek longevity. They simply function as they do, and so endure. This is the way of the Dao.

Zhang Junxiang says: All things busy themselves with securing their own survival. Heaven and Earth alone concern themselves with bringing forth and nourishing all things, without managing their own survival. They give life without seeking survival for themselves, and so they endure.

Therefore, the sage puts himself behind others and thereby comes to the fore; he sets himself aside and thereby preserves himself.

The Imperial Commentary says: Everyone wants to be first, while the sage alone is willing to remain behind and bear the world’s disgrace. This is what it means to “put oneself behind.” By remaining behind, he does not contend with the myriad things, and so no one under Heaven can contend with him. Thus it is said that by staying behind, he comes to the fore. In traveling, he does not compete for the advantages offered by easy or difficult roads; between winter and summer, he does not seek the benefits of harmonizing Yin and Yang. He transcends life and death and is not burdened by fortune or misfortune, so his spirit is not troubled. This is what it means to “set oneself aside and thereby preserve oneself.”

Ma Jiji says: The sage is like Heaven and Earth. By staying behind and forgetting himself, he resembles Heaven and Earth, which do not manage their own survival. As a result, he preserves himself and endures for a long time, just as Heaven and Earth live on forever. “Staying behind” means yielding and willingly placing oneself below others; “forgetting oneself” means not keeping oneself in mind. Because he willingly places himself below others, they instead push him to the front; because he is not attached to himself, he is able to preserve himself.

Is it not precisely because the sage is selfless that he can fulfill himself?

The Imperial Commentary says: Heaven and Earth’s greatest virtue is to bring forth and nourish all things; the sage’s most precious possession is the throne. The Dao takes impartiality as its foundation. Heaven and Earth embody the Dao and so have no self-interest; because they have no self-interest, they endure. The sage embodies the Dao and so has no self-interest; because he has no self-interest, he endures. Those who concern themselves only with managing their own affairs and pursuing private gain have never truly fulfilled their own wishes.

Lü Jifu says: The body belongs to me alone. If I put myself last and do not regard myself as most important, I can be fair and impartial. Because I have no selfish motives, I can instead fulfill myself.

Ma Jiji says: Heaven and Earth do not seek their own growth, and the sage puts himself last and does not regard himself as most important. These are all expressions of selflessness. Yet Heaven and Earth thereby continue their course for a long time, and the sage thereby endures for a long time. In this way, they ultimately fulfill themselves. The “self” fulfilled through selflessness is the greatest of all. Zhuangzi says, “Only by being selfless can one truly fulfill oneself.”

This chapter says that the Dao acts with fairness and selflessness. Heaven and Earth follow the Dao, so they have no selfish motives; because they have none, they endure. The sage follows the Dao, so he has no selfish motives; because he has none, he can endure. To concern oneself only with one’s own interests is selfish, yet no one can truly fulfill himself through such selfishness. Those who study the Dao should model themselves on its impartiality and make plans not only for themselves; in this way, they too can endure.

End of Volume One of Collected Selections from the True Classic of the Way and Its Virtue.

Collected Selections from the True Classic of the Way and Its Virtue, Volume Two

Compiled by Li Lin, a lay Buddhist from Raoyang, Song dynasty

Chapter Eight: The Highest Good Is Like Water

The highest good is like water.

Su Ziyou says: Heaven’s first generative force gives rise to water. The Dao moves and manifests as goodness, just as primordial Qi moves and generates water. Hence the saying, “The highest good is like water.”

Water possesses three qualities akin to the Dao and displays seven ways of benefiting the myriad things. The person of the highest goodness is likewise like water. The “highest good” here means the goodness embodied by the Dao, not the kind of goodness known to ordinary people. Goodness continues the Dao; among the Five Phases, water comes first, is close to the Dao, and has a nature most like it. Only when separated from the Dao does the name “goodness” arise. Thus, “the highest good is like water” expresses the natural principle of things.

Water is good at nourishing the myriad things, yet it does not contend with them. It settles in low places that everyone else despises, and so it is closest to the Dao.

The Collected Subtle Meanings says: These three qualities of water are akin to the Dao. Only when separated from the Dao does the name “goodness” arise; “the highest good is like water” expresses the natural principle of things. Water is good at nourishing the myriad things, yet it does not contend with them. It settles in low places that everyone else despises, and so it is closest to the Dao.

The Zuanwei says: Water has three qualities that bring it close to the Dao (the Way). First, it nourishes all things and benefits them. Second, it takes on a square or round shape according to its surroundings, changing form with its container; it can also be stored or released as people wish. This is its quality of non-contention. Third, while everyone loathes low places, water always flows downward. Water’s benefit to all things embodies broad benevolence; its refusal to compete with them embodies humility; and its willingness to dwell in places everyone despises embodies the capacity to endure what is impure. These three qualities of water, taken together, run through the consistent De (Virtue/Power) of the perfected person who has attained the Dao. With such De, one is not far from the Dao. Hence the saying, “close to the Dao.”

Dwelling in good places

Ma Jiji says: “‘Good’ means that dwelling low is fitting. Water flows toward low places as its destination. So a person skilled in conducting themselves chooses a suitable place to live, like water. This is ‘dwelling in good places.’”

Where water settles, it makes good use of the advantages of the terrain. Where a good person lives, their teaching influences the neighbors and people of the community.

A good heart is deep

The Imperial Commentary says: “The more deeply one probes, the deeper it seems; the more one investigates, the farther-reaching it seems.”

Ma Jiji says: “‘Good’ means that stillness is fitting. Deep, still water is called an ‘abyss.’ A person skilled in self-cultivation has a heart as deep and still as an abyss of water. This is ‘a good heart is deep.’”

Cao Daochong says: “‘Abyss’ is where water rests in stillness. Even wind and waves cannot disturb its deep, tranquil nature. The heart of the perfected person is like this too.”

Wang Yuanze says: “The heart is deep, still, peaceful, and calm: clear within, reserved in its outward expression. With a deep and still heart, one can return to the source and keep the spirit undivided.”

A good giver is benevolent

The Imperial Commentary says: “One cares for all without selfishness and gives without making distinctions.”

Su Ziyou says: “To nourish and benefit all things, giving without seeking repayment—this is benevolence.”

Ma Jiji says: “‘Good’ means that helping all things is fitting. Water expresses its benevolence by benefiting all things. So a person skilled in practicing benevolence benefits all things, like water. This is ‘a good giver is benevolent.’”

Nothing fails to receive the moisture water gives: it nourishes all things and helps them grow. A person of the highest goodness is like water in this way. They extend their kindness widely to the people, their grace reaches all beings, and they benefit living creatures without seeking repayment. This is “a good giver is benevolent.”

“True in word” means that water remains faithful as it flows. It avoids obstacles and eventually reaches rivers and seas; even when it passes through dangerous places, it never loses its direction. Lu Dian says that water endures every hardship without betraying its course. However many twists and turns it encounters, it still flows eastward: this is what “true in word” means.

“Good at governing” means that water can make what is turbid clean and what is uneven level. It follows the inherent principles of things and carries no private motives, so nothing is beyond its ability to govern. Emperor Xuanzong of Tang compared governing to water washing away dirt and leaving things clean. Wang Bi, meanwhile, said that good governance should be like water: clear and even, free of impurity and favoritism. Liu Zhongping points out that water itself does not discuss government, yet the classic says, “True in word, good at governing.” This is because water’s qualities are used here to explain the good person, leading in turn to the discussion of “goodness in benevolence.”

“Good at serving” means that water excels at responding to things. It bends or runs straight according to the terrain, and takes a square or round shape according to its container. It is ever changing, yet always adapts to its circumstances. Su Ziyou says that water takes on the shape of whatever vessel it encounters without being confined to any one form; this is what “good at serving” means. The person of highest goodness is like water: responsive to people and affairs, without deliberately resisting things from outside. Thus, there is nothing they cannot adapt to in their work.

“Good at timing in action” means acting with a keen sense of the right moment. When Yang Qi dissipates, water melts; when Yin Qi gathers, water freezes. Put it in the east and it flows east; put it in the west and it flows west. Its movement meets no obstruction: it simply responds to the season and circumstances at hand.

The Zuanwei says: When a person who has attained the Dao makes a home, they are good at being humble and yielding, following the natural character of all things. Their teaching can also influence their neighbors and the people of their community. This is like water flowing over the earth: it always moves toward low places and nourishes all things. Thus it says, “In dwelling, be good like the land.” This is the first kind of goodness.

The heart of a person who has attained the Dao is good at remaining empty and still. It can see into what is deep and subtle, with clarity and openness. This is like water in a deep pool: clear and quiet, it changes in countless ways without losing its brightness. Thus it says, “In the heart, be good like a deep pool.” This is the second kind of goodness.

When a person who has attained the Dao gives to others, they are good at practicing benevolence. Their kindness reaches throughout the world, without favoring those close to them. This is like water nourishing all things: it can rise or descend, and nothing is beyond its reach. Thus it says, “In giving, be good in benevolence.” This is the third kind of goodness.

When a person who has attained the Dao speaks, they are good at keeping faith. They do not make deliberate agreements with external things, yet their words naturally accord with reality. This is like water reflecting all things, showing each as it is, whether beautiful or ugly. When the water is full, it moves on; even as it passes through dangerous places, it does not lose its nature. Thus it says, “In speech, be good in faithfulness.” This is the fourth kind of goodness.

When a person who has attained the Dao governs, they are good at governing the people. Through upright words and conduct, they inspire others, who then follow naturally. This is like clear, still water: it reflects high and low alike and can wash all things, keeping them free from dust and grime. Thus it says, “In governance, be good at governing.” This is the fifth kind of goodness.

When a person who has attained the Dao handles affairs, they are good at matching people to tasks. They assign roles according to each person’s abilities, so that no one’s talents go unused. This is like water’s yielding nature: it adapts to square or round vessels, taking their shape and serving its purpose accordingly. Thus it says, “In handling affairs, be good in ability.” This is the sixth kind of goodness.

Whether active or at rest, a person who has attained the Dao is good at observing the right moment. Their advance and retreat accord with the times, allowing them to preserve their Dao. This is like water changing with the seasons: it freezes in winter and melts in summer, never going against the season. Thus it says, “In action, be good at timing.” This is the seventh kind of goodness.

Think matters through before acting, and act only when the time is right, just as water thaws in spring and freezes in winter, following the seasons.

Precisely because they do not contend with others, they incur no fault or resentment.

Su Ziyou says: When people do good deeds yet still cannot avoid criticism, it is because they are striving for something. Water does not contend with anything, and so it embodies seven virtues without fault.

This chapter discusses the nature of water: it nourishes all things, is yielding and does not contend, and usually stays in low places. It therefore has three strengths, embodies all seven virtues, and is without fault. Who besides someone who has attained the state of “supreme goodness” could be like water?

Chapter Nine: Holding and Filling

Holding a vessel and continuing to fill it is not as good as stopping in time.

Lü Jifu says: Straining to keep things overflowing does not necessarily make one rich. Holding something is originally meant to prevent it from spilling over; if one keeps filling it, it becomes all the more likely to overflow. To keep it from spilling over, it is better not to fill it completely.

“Hold” means to grasp and keep hold; “full” means filled; “stop” means to cease. One holds something to prevent it from spilling over, yet then fills it to the brim. The result is bound to be collapse, so it is better to stop in time.

Sharpen it, and it cannot stay sharp for long.

Wen Gong says: If one gauges the circumstances and hastily seeks advancement, one will ultimately lose what one has gained.

Lü Jifu says: Gauging the circumstances is meant to avoid mistakes. But if, after doing so, one simply makes a show of one’s sharpness and rushes to advance, one compounds those mistakes. To avoid loss, it is better not to press too hard for advancement.

“To gauge” means to skillfully assess the circumstances; “sharp” means being bent on pressing forward. After gauging the circumstances, if one then flaunts one’s sharpness and pursues fame and success, one may gain them for a time, but will eventually lose them. They cannot be held for long.

When gold and jade fill the hall, no one can keep them safe.

Prince Shu says: A hall is originally an empty space meant to hold things. When gold and jade pack it full, it is overfilled and therefore difficult to keep secure.

Ma Juji says: The inner recesses of a hall can be used to store and guard gold and jade, but disaster lies in piling up too much. Even without calamities from heaven, human calamities are bound to follow.

This passage explains that what is overfilled is difficult to hold on to for long. Only by keeping things sufficient without letting them overflow can wealth be retained over time.

This passage explains that a state of fullness is difficult to maintain for long. Wealth can be preserved over time when it is abundant but does not overflow; if one only accumulates and fills the hall with gold and jade, no one will be able to hold on to it.

If the wealthy and powerful grow arrogant, they bring calamity upon themselves.

The Imperial Commentary says that gold, jade, wealth, and high rank are not essential to one’s life and nature. They are external possessions, and one cannot expect them to belong to oneself forever. If one prizes gold and jade too highly, one becomes entangled in external things; once entangled in them, how could one avoid losing them? If one grows arrogant on account of wealth and rank, one damages one’s De; when De is damaged, how could one escape calamity? Thus misfortune is brought on by oneself. The sage does not claim temporary advantages as his own, nor use ruling the world as a means to glorify himself. How, then, could he be entangled in gold, jade, wealth, or rank? When one reaches the highest degree of abundance, the world’s wealth can all gather there; when one reaches the highest degree of honor, the world’s ranks and titles can all converge there. His honor has no equal, and his abundance has no match, yet his Dao remains unchanged.

Heshang Gong says that when wealthy, one should aid the poor; when honored, one should show consideration for those of low station. If instead one becomes arrogant and self-indulgent, one will surely invite calamity.

King Shu says that people may not deliberately seek to become arrogant, but after gaining wealth and rank, arrogance often grows of its own accord. Thus they bring calamity upon themselves.

This also explains that when one’s brilliance is too conspicuous, it is hard to last. One can preserve high rank over time only by holding it without endangering oneself. If one keeps sharpening oneself like a blade, one is liable to grow arrogant on account of wealth and rank, and so bring misfortune upon oneself.

Once one’s work is complete and one’s name established, one should withdraw. This is the way of nature.

Su Ziyou says that when the sun reaches its zenith, it begins to move westward; once the moon is full, it begins to wane. The seasons change in the same way: when things have completed their function, they recede. If this is true even of Heaven and Earth, how much more so of human beings?

“Benefiting others” is called “merit,” while “having one’s merit praised and applied to oneself” is called “fame.” Merit is like the substantial foundation of wealth and honor; fame is like their outward luster. Merit brings benefit to others and achieves something, while reputation attaches to oneself and earns praise. Once merit is accomplished, withdrawing from office and stepping aside allows one to remain free of calamity for a long time. This is the constant principle of the Dao of Heaven.

This chapter cautions people against seeking wealth to the point of excess and claiming honor as their own. Rather than straining to maintain fullness, it is better to stop in time; when one’s edge is too sharp, it is more easily blunted. A great accumulation of gold and jade is hard to preserve, while arrogance amid wealth and honor invites calamity. To accomplish merit without taking credit for it, to attain fame without making it one’s identity, and to understand that reducing can bring benefit—this is what accords with the Dao of Heaven.

Chapter Ten: Carrying the Hun and Po

“Carrying the Hun and Po” means bringing the soul and bodily spirit into a settled harmony.

Wang Yuanze says: The Po is the Yin aspect that governs the body. The nature of Shen is vast and open, yet Shen cannot fully understand itself on its own. Shen is often bound to the Po and so constrained by the body: what was originally vast becomes narrow, and what was originally open becomes obstructed. Those who wish to learn this Dao should first broaden their aspirations and avoid being burdened by the body, so that Shen can govern the Po rather than be bound by it. In this way, they can hold fast to the One—the fundamental Dao spoken of in Daoism—and realize the wondrous principle.

Ma Jüji says: In human life, the part formed from Yang Qi is called the Hun, while the part formed from Yin Qi is called the Po. The Hun and Po reside between the liver and lungs, sustaining life through their interdependence with Jing and Shen. Of the two, the Po accompanies Jing as it enters and leaves, while the Hun comes and goes with Shen.

In this chapter, “carrying the Hun and Po” means that “carrying” refers to the Hun.

The Inner Observation Scripture (Neiguan Jing) says: What moves and operates, sustaining the body, is called the hun (ethereal soul). The hun governs the body’s functions, enabling the whole person to act. It accompanies Jing (essence, the foundation of human life processes) as it enters and leaves, and directs the body’s transformations.

The limbs, bones, and nine apertures—the body’s various openings—make up the physical form; these belong to the po (corporeal soul). Without the hun to set the body in motion, how would the physical form differ from a walking corpse? The po cannot exist without the hun, just as the moon cannot exist without the sun. The po relies on the hun to sustain the body’s activity; the moon borrows the sun’s light to shine. Here, “nourishing” describes the hun’s function, while “po” refers to the physical dimension. “Bearing” means supporting the physical form.

Most earlier interpretations take “nourishing” to refer to the hun. Only Yuanze’s Imperial Commentary (Yujie) takes it to mean resting and becoming still. Another interpretation says that “bearing” means the physical form supports the hun and po; yet another says that Shen (spirit) supports the po.

“Can you embrace the One and keep it from departing?” means: Can you hold fast to the One and prevent it from dispersing?

Prince Shu says: The “One” is Jing. Once the hun and po are present, Jing arises; when Jing arises, Shen follows.

Wang Yuanze says: The “One” is the number corresponding to Jing. The passage says “One” rather than “Jing” directly because holding fast to the One keeps Jing from wavering.

Ma Jiji says: The hun and po have different functions, and the key is to embrace and hold fast to the One. The Dao gives rise to the One; the One gives rise to water, and water in turn gives rise to Jing. Jing is what the One generates. Embrace the One, and you can unite with Jing; lose the One, and you become separated from Jing. When Jing is abundant, Qi (vital energy) is complete; when Qi is complete, Shen is complete as well. Only when Shen is fully developed can it govern the hun and po, making one a superior adept—a person accomplished in cultivating the Dao. Jing is the foundation on which all things under Heaven are generated.

“Nourishing” can also mean becoming still and resting. The po belongs to Yin and governs the physical form; it depends on the body as its place of rest. Thus, “nourishing the po and bearing it” means that Shen supports the po. When Jing, Qi, and Shen are complete, they can govern the hun and po, making one a superior adept. Jing is the foundation on which all things under Heaven are generated.

“En” means to settle or attach. “Po” is Yin; it is the vital energy linked to the physical body. The Po governs the body and finds a place to settle by attaching itself to it. Thus, “bearing the Po with the Ying” means using the Shen to bear the Po. Without the Shen to bear it, the Po would remain trapped in darkness and gloom. The body would dissolve, the Shen and Qi would depart, and in the end it would perish along with all things.

The Shen should bear the Po without being constrained by it. Only then can one refine and nourish the Yang Shen, dissolve the Yin Po, and transform the body into an immortal body. The key is “embracing the One”: holding fast to the undivided root, which is Jing. By embracing this One, Jing and Shen unite and do not separate. Jing gathers the Shen; the Shen governs the body; and the body, in turn, preserves the Shen and Qi. When Jing, Shen, and the body blend into one, the Dao is complete. Anyone who wishes to cultivate this Dao should take the preservation and nourishment of Jing and Qi as the foundation. Zhuangzi says, “One who does not depart from Jing is called a spiritual person.” This means that someone whose Jing and Qi do not dissipate may be called a spiritual person; the teaching is to nourish Jing.

“By focusing Qi and bringing it to softness, can you be like an infant?” means: Can you cultivate the breath with single-minded focus until it becomes gentle and soft, as in an infant?

The Zuānwēi explains that anyone wishing to learn the method of focusing Qi and bringing it to softness should be as pure and harmonious as an infant. To retain an infant’s purity and harmony is to achieve focused Qi and softness—that is, a state in which Jing and Qi do not disperse.

The saying “when Jing is whole, Shen flourishes” means that when Jing and Qi are abundant, Shen becomes vigorous; when Shen is vigorous, it can govern the breath. If the mind and Shen regulate the breath with single-minded focus, untouched by joy, anger, sorrow, or pleasure, the breath can become gentle and soft. “Focus” means holding undivided command; “softness” means calmness without force. The breath should reach the gentleness of an infant’s state of mind: free of scattered desires and thoughts, with the mind intent on one thing. An infant may cry all day without becoming hoarse because its breath is perfectly regulated. This is a teaching on nourishing Qi.

“Can you cleanse your inner vision until it is without flaw?” means: Can you purify the deepest awareness of the mind so that it is free of blemish?

Ma Jüji says that this chapter regards the complete nourishment of Jing, Qi, and Shen as the foundation of learning the Dao. It teaches the nourishment of Jing through “not departing,” the nourishment of Qi through the image of an infant, and the nourishment of Shen through “being without flaw.”

“Inner vision” refers to the deepest awareness of the mind. According to Ma Jüji’s interpretation, this chapter takes the completeness of Jing, Qi, and Shen as the foundation of cultivation. The earlier passage explains nourishing Jing through “not departing” and nourishing Qi through the image of an infant; here, “without flaw” explains nourishing Shen.

“Gazing inward” refers to the mind. “Washing” means cleansing the mind, and “clearing away” means removing distracting thoughts from it. Wash the mind until it is utterly still, then clear away distracting thoughts until it is utterly empty: the mind will be empty, still, and clear, without the slightest flaw. Zhuangzi said, “Pure and unmixed, quiet and single-minded, it does not change with external things.” This teaches people how to nurture the spirit.

In caring for the people and governing the state, can one follow nature without forcing action?

The Heshang Gong commentary says: Those who cultivate themselves cherish their Jing and Qi, and so preserve their bodies; those who govern the state care for the people, and so keep the state at peace. In cultivating oneself, regulate the breath and preserve Jing and Qi without letting others notice; in governing the state, bestow kindness and benefits without making the people feel that these are being deliberately imposed.

This further explains the principle of “holding to the One,” or maintaining singleness of purpose. The Neidan Jing says that sages regard the body as a state, the mind as its ruler, and Jing and Qi as its people. When Jing and Qi are settled, the body is strong. Jing is the foundation of the body; only by cherishing and conserving Jing and Qi can the body be brought into harmony. The foundation of caring for Jing and Qi is holding to the One. This is simply following the way of nature, so why deliberately do anything? Hence the question, “Can one practice Wuwei?”

Those who cultivate Neidan sometimes become occupied with various esoteric techniques, treating the circulation of Jing and Qi as their practice and doing too much. The scripture therefore warns them again to practice Wuwei. Zhuangzi said, “Only Wuwei comes close to preserving life.” Most commentators explain this mainly in terms of external matters such as governing the state; only the Heshang Gong commentary discusses both inner and outer cultivation. In light of the preceding passage, understanding it in terms of self-cultivation better fits the flow of the scripture.

When the heavenly gate opens and closes, can one remain soft and yielding like a female?

Wang Yuanze says: A person of the Dao does not harbor an intention to manipulate the spirit deliberately. As the spirit comes and goes, it responds only as needed and does not actively force anything.

This further explains the principle of “concentrating the Qi.” Those who cultivate Qi may be tempted to force its movement, so the scripture again warns them to keep to the female. “Female” refers to softness and yieldingness.

In clear perception and understanding, can one do without reliance on cleverness?

The Imperial Commentary says: Even with intelligence and wisdom, one must remain grounded in simplicity and Wuwei.

This further explains what it means for the mind to be without flaw. Those who cultivate the spirit should be simple, single-minded, and unobstructed in their understanding. Even when they possess insight, they should remain grounded in simplicity, without being led by distinctions or cleverness. The scripture therefore warns them to be “without knowledge.”

In giving life to and nurturing the myriad things, in nourishing and sustaining them, …

The Imperial Commentary says: Even with intelligence and wisdom, one must remain grounded in simplicity and Wuwei.

This passage explains the meaning of “without blemish.” Those who cultivate the spirit should be simple and undivided, free of distracting thoughts, with an open and unobstructed mind. At this point, they should not cling to knowledge and opinions as a way of limiting themselves. Instead, they should remain empty, still, and unadorned. Hence the further warning against clinging to cleverness.

Nourish all things without claiming them as one’s own; act without relying on one’s achievements; help all things grow without directing them. This is called “Mysterious De” (profound and subtle Virtue).

The Imperial Commentary says: The sage preserves and nourishes the spirit, understands transformation, and becomes one with the Dao. Thus the sage can work in harmony with the divine power to nurture all things, with nothing beyond their capacity. The sage enables all things to grow and realize their own nature, then cares for them so they are fully nourished. Without greed or a desire to repay kindness, the sage helps all things grow without possessing them. Without boasting of achievements, the sage acts without relying on those achievements. Without using cleverness to force control over all things, the sage lets them grow without ruling them. This De is profound and subtle, beyond the ordinary feelings of most people; hence it is called “Mysterious De.”

This chapter takes the preservation of Jing, Qi, and Shen as the foundation of learning the Dao. When the three are fully integrated, one reaches the complete state of the Dao.

Chapter Eleven: Thirty Spokes

Thirty spokes converge at a wheel’s hub, but it is the hollow space within the hub that makes the wheel turn. Clay is shaped into a vessel, but it is the hollow space within the vessel that makes it useful for holding things. Doors and windows are cut to build a house, but it is the open space inside that makes the house fit to live in.

The Imperial Commentary says: Though being and nonbeing take different forms, they complement one another. Their function becomes apparent in the space between them; this is called “ultimate numinous efficacy.” Being is form, and nonbeing is function. The workings of Yin-Yang and the patterns of all things are like this. A cart’s function is to carry, a vessel’s to hold, and a house’s to provide space. Subtle function appears from a state of utmost emptiness, while transformation is contained in what is free from entanglement. This is like a mirror, which has no fixed image of its own yet reflects different scenes according to what stands before it. Those who have attained the Dao use their mind and spirit to grasp this principle.

Thus, what has form provides convenience, while the empty space without form is what performs the actual function.

Zhong Hui says: The wheel, the vessel, and the house are offered as examples to show that “being” and “nonbeing” depend on each other; neither can be dispensed with. “Being” brings practical benefit, which lies in the concrete form. “Nonbeing” provides practical function, which lies in the empty space within the form. The form is on the outside, the empty space within. Empty space can perform its function only through the benefit provided by form, while form can serve its purpose only because of empty space. Each relies on the other, and neither can be lacking. Solid being gains its benefit through empty nonbeing, while empty nonbeing performs its function through solid being: the two depend on each other.

Che Huibi says: Those who cultivate themselves must use “being” to support “emptiness,” and use “emptiness” to guide “being.” By letting being and nonbeing assist one another, the mind avoids becoming attached to or immersed in either side. Only then can each fulfill its own function.

This chapter explains that being and nonbeing are one and support each other, using three things as examples. The center of a wheel is empty, allowing it to turn and move. A vessel is empty inside, allowing it to hold things. The open spaces between a house’s doors and windows allow people to enter, leave, and live there. The forms of the wheel, vessel, and house belong to “being,” from which people gain benefit. The empty spaces within them belong to “nonbeing,” through which people put them to practical use.

Concrete form brings benefit, but must rely on empty space to function; for empty space to function, it too must depend on concrete form. Being and nonbeing depend on each other, just as body and spirit rely on one another and neither can be neglected: the body is guided by the spirit, and the spirit takes the body as its dwelling. The two unite and give rise to each other. Those in the world who do not understand this principle become attached to “nonbeing” when refining the spirit, then become immersed in “being” when nourishing the body, and in the end lose both. This chapter uses three things to explain how being and nonbeing give rise to each other. Those who study the Dao and cultivate themselves according to this principle can perfect both body and spirit and ultimately unite with the Dao in their true nature.

Chapter Twelve: The Five Colors

The five colors dazzle the eyes; the five tones deafen the ears.

The Imperial Commentary says: If people indulge their eyes and ears in desires for sights and sounds, then, despite having eyes and ears, they cannot truly see or hear. How are they any different from the blind and the deaf?

The five flavors dull the sense of taste.

Wang Yuanze says: People are originally in a state of quiet purity, but later change under the influence of external things. The ears and eyes are originally in subtle stillness, without deliberately listening or looking. Once sounds and sights appear before them, the true nature is obscured by deluded thoughts. How are they then any different from the blind and the deaf? The tongue and mouth are likewise enticed by flavors.

Lü Jifu says: Only when nothing external can disturb the heart-mind can people remain quiet and pure and become sages. If they pursue external things single-mindedly, their minds fill with distracting thoughts and they become confused. This is true of most worldly affairs, and riding out to hunt is especially likely to become an obsession.

Xia Taikang became engrossed in hunting. After he lost the state, his five younger brothers voiced their resentment in the “Song of the Five Sons.” Duke Ai of Lu also favored hunting and was censured by a poet. To become obsessed with hunting and roaming without restraint is to lose one’s original nature. Is this not a kind of mental derangement?

Precious and hard-to-obtain goods can harm people’s conduct. The imperial commentary says: When rare goods are prized, even above life and one’s natural disposition, people covet wealth and status and lose their original nature. How can they still hold to the right path? That is why it is said that hard-to-obtain goods harm one’s conduct.

Zhong Hui praised Shang Tang for not accumulating goods or seeking profit. Confucius also told his disciple Zigong that he had not followed instruction, but had gone into business and amassed wealth. It is clear that pursuing riches can harm De (Virtue/Power). Treasures such as luminous pearls and jade that glows at night may instead bring calamity. Mencius said that those who cherish pearls and jade will surely bring disaster upon themselves.

Therefore, sages attend to nourishing what is within and do not pursue pleasures for the outer senses. Zhong Hui explains: “Filling the belly” means making the true Qi (vital energy) abundant within; “not filling the eyes” means removing desires so that the eyes do not freely chase after external things. The scripture says that the five tones make people deaf; the same principle applies to the other senses.

“Filling the belly” means guarding the spirit and making the true Qi abundant within. “Not filling the eyes” means removing the six forms of sensory and emotional agitation, so that the eyes do not look about recklessly.

Therefore, one should set aside external temptations and choose ways of nourishing body and mind. Heshang Gong explains: “Setting aside that” means not letting the eyes look about recklessly; “choosing this” means nourishing the body and spirit through food and drink.

The eyes govern outward seeing, while the belly governs receptivity. The sage makes the belly full and is not controlled by the ears and eyes. Thus, the sage sets aside the outward-looking eyes and relies on the belly, which can nourish the spirit and receive things.

The eyes govern outward seeing, while the belly governs receptivity. The sage makes the belly full and is not controlled by the ears and eyes. Thus, the sage sets aside the eyes’ reckless outward gazing and relies on the belly, which can receive things. The sage stills the six faculties—the eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind, with their powers of perception and cognition. This passage mentions only freedom from the eyes’ influence because once the eyes are named, the other senses can be understood by analogy. This chapter explains that the five sensory objects of the external world—forms, sounds, scents, tastes, and touch—harm a person’s nature. One should therefore forget external things in order to preserve one’s true nature. The sage’s choices are most discerning.

Chapter 13: Favor and disgrace

Favor and disgrace alike bring alarm.

Wang Anshi says: Receiving favor is like receiving disgrace because favor makes one feel fearful and unsettled.

Ma Jiji says: Favor is the root of disgrace because it binds one to gain and loss. When others show someone favor, that person’s heart becomes even more fearful; therefore, receiving favor is like receiving disgrace. Favor means honor and grace. If one regards being favored as an honor, one’s spirit becomes unsettled. This is why receiving favor is like receiving disgrace.

Regard great trouble as you regard your own person.

The Imperial Commentary says: Favor is often bestowed on those of low status, while the honored occupy the higher positions. If, while being favored, one treats it as an honor, disgrace will follow. If, while holding an honored position, one treats it as a burden, there can be no greater trouble. To be honored is to hold a prominent status. When the heart cherishes something, one will suffer great anxiety on its account, just as people are often burdened by their own person.

What is meant by favor and disgrace? Favor puts one in a low position.

The Imperial Commentary says: Those who covet fame admire stipends. They know only how to advance, not how to yield; they know only how to gain, not how to lose. By accepting another person’s favor, one places oneself in a position of subordination.

Someone asks: Why does receiving favor become a disgrace? Because accepting favor puts one in a position of subordination: once favored, one leaves the power to grant or withdraw that favor in another person’s hands. If one lets gain and loss entangle the heart, is that not confusion? Zixi served three times as an official and was dismissed three times, yet his face showed neither joy nor anger. How could he have felt disgraced?

Receiving it brings alarm; losing it brings alarm. This is what is meant by favor and disgrace alike bringing alarm.

Master Wen said: Those who study and enter public service should put moral character first and rank and salary second. Moral character brings true honor, while rank and salary may bring humiliation. Yet people in the world mistake humiliation for glory: when they gain rank and salary, they tremble with anxiety; when they lose them, they are overwhelmed with grief.

To gain rank and salary is only to possess them for a time. To lose them is simply to return to having none. What is there to fear? If someone is constantly distressed by gain and loss, it shows that rank and salary have bound them, and so they are humiliated. Liuxia Hui, a worthy man of the Spring and Autumn period in the state of Lu, was dismissed three times from his post as judge, yet did not leave. Zheng Kaofu, a minister of the state of Song in the Spring and Autumn period, was appointed to office three times and each time walked respectfully close to the wall. Their attitude toward gain and loss was unlike that of those who fret over what they might gain or lose.

What does it mean to “regard the great calamity as important as one’s own body”?

The Commentary by the Imperial Editor says: To wield power, control rewards and punishments, dispense favors and establish authority, and be revered by all under Heaven as they revere the spirits and honored as they honor the Lord of Heaven—this may be called eminence. But the sage does not let eminence become a burden, and so can hold on to it for a long time without end. It is like ceasing to cling to one’s limbs and senses, escaping the constraints of the body and cleverness, and merging with the Great Dao: then one can be at ease wherever one is. People in the world trade their nature for external things, and so are burdened by those things and cannot let go of power. They also let the body burden the mind, and so lose their original heart and cannot let go of the body. These are great troubles.

Wang Yuanze said: To be eminent is to stand above all things. Even if one possesses a state or a family estate, being unable to forget it makes it a great calamity. It is like someone who cherishes their body and is therefore burdened by it: the changes of cold and heat, illness and pain, and all kinds of troubles follow one after another. Is this not a great calamity?

The reason I have great calamity is that I have this body.

The Lord of the River says: The reason I have great calamity is precisely that I have a body. Having a body means worrying that it will grow weary and fretting that it will go hungry or suffer from cold. If one indulges one’s desires and lets one’s emotions rule, one may also invite disaster.

The body becomes a source of trouble because I cling to “having a body”; that clinging itself is the great calamity.

When I no longer cling to myself, what troubles could remain?

Cai Zihuang says: “‘Having no body’ does not mean regarding the body as nonexistent. It means not clinging to the body as a fixed ‘self,’ and thus forgetting the myriad things and oneself within the transformations of creation. How, then, could troubles and misfortunes disturb such a person? ‘Having no body’ does not mean destroying the body and making it disappear.

“‘Having no body’ means not destroying the body, but having a body without clinging to it—having this body without treating it as something truly substantial. This is the same as what Confucius meant by ‘I have lost myself’ (letting go of fixed views that cling to the self), and what Ziqi ‘lost himself’ as described by Zhuangzi.

“Therefore, only one who regards the world as more important than himself can be entrusted with the world. Only one who cares for himself yet is not burdened by private desires can be given charge of the world.”

The Imperial Commentary says: “The world is a great vessel; without the Dao, it cannot function. The world is also a wondrous vessel; without the Dao, it cannot be safeguarded. The sage understands the Great Dao, and so can embrace and nurture the world. The people gladly uphold him and do not grow weary of him. Those of the next rank know how to cherish themselves: they do not demean themselves or let external things drive them. Such people may perhaps be entrusted with the world. They know how to care for themselves without harming themselves or allowing external things to entrap them. Such people may perhaps be given charge of the world.

“Hence it is said: ‘The root of the Dao is used to cultivate oneself; its surplus effects are used to govern the state, and beyond that, to govern the world.’ Yet worldly gentlemen endanger themselves and give up their lives in pursuit of external things. This is truly lamentable.”

Wang Bi says: “Not letting external things alter one’s original mind is what is meant by ‘honoring the body’; not letting external things harm oneself is what is meant by ‘caring for the body.’ Only one who can do this may be entrusted with the world. If one does not let favor, disgrace, glory, or misfortune damage or alter oneself, only then may the world be given into one’s care.”

People of De do not bring humiliation upon themselves, and those who cherish their own lives do not place themselves in danger. Only such people can be entrusted with all under Heaven. People like Zizhou Zhifu and Prince Sou were like this. Would they regard favor as an honor, or be burdened by their exalted status? This chapter says that humiliation arises from receiving favor; forget favor, and there is no humiliation. The self is the foundation on which life rests; forget the self, and there are no troubles. Once no longer burdened by favor or honor, one is free of fear and distress. Only then can one cherish oneself and take responsibility for all under Heaven.

End of Collected Good Interpretations of the True Classic of the Dao and Its De, Volume Two.

Collected Good Interpretations of the True Classic of the Dao and Its De, Volume Three

Compiled by Li Lin, a lay Daoist of Raoyang during the Song dynasty

Chapter Fourteen: The Invisible

Look at it, but it cannot be seen; this is called “Yi” (the level and undifferentiated).

The Imperial Commentary says: The eyes govern seeing, and seeing is used to distinguish things. “Yi” means a level state without distinctions, which the eyes cannot see; hence it is called “Yi.” This is the state before the Great Yi—the condition in which Heaven and Earth have not yet divided and Qi has not yet appeared—has manifested its breath.

Wang Yuanze says: When the Dao reaches among the myriad things, it is equal everywhere, with no distinction between higher and lower. Therefore, it is not something the eyes can see.

This passage speaks of the Dao. “Yi” means level and easy. The Dao has neither form nor color, so it cannot be seen when one looks at it. Though unseen, it can nevertheless manifest colors such as deep black and bright yellow. We cannot therefore say it has no color at all; we can only call it “Yi.”

Listen to it, but it cannot be heard; this is called “Xi” (faint and difficult to hear).

The Imperial Commentary says: The ears govern hearing, and hearing is used to discern things. “Xi” means something vast yet difficult to hear, which the ears cannot hear; hence it is called “Xi.” This is what is meant by “the greatest sound is scarcely heard.”

Zhuangzi says: What can be heard is called names and sounds. The Dao has no sound and is not something the ears can hear; hence it is called “Xi.” Though unheard, it can nevertheless manifest tones such as Gong and Shang. We cannot therefore say it has no sound at all; we can only call it “Xi.”

Touch it, but it cannot be grasped; this is called “Wei” (subtle and formless).

The Imperial Commentary says: The Dao is so subtle that it has no physical form. Who, then, could touch it? This is what is meant by “the greatest image has no form.”

What has no form is called “subtle.” “Grasping” means taking hold of something and keeping it in one’s possession. The Dao has no fixed form, so it cannot be grasped in one’s hands. Though it cannot be grasped, the Dao enables all manner of forms and qualities to appear: Yin and Yang, softness and firmness, length and shortness, roundness and squareness, heat and cold, rising and sinking, bitterness and sweetness. The Dao itself is formless, yet it brings the myriad things into view from within formlessness. That is why it is called “subtle.”

The three—“Yi,” “Xi,” and “Wei”—cannot be fully explained through words, so they are also collectively called “the One.”

The Imperial Commentary says: Before Heaven and Earth and the myriad things were differentiated, how could high and low be distinguished? The greatest sound is almost inaudible; how could clear and muddy tones be distinguished? The greatest image has no fixed form; how could it be called large or small? At that time, the eyes have no use for sight, the ears no use for hearing, and the body no need to expend effort. The Dao in its complete state is present within this. One may try to investigate it to the utmost, yet never reach its end; one may try to grasp it, yet never obtain it. Qi, form, and substance are all present, but have not yet separated from one another, and so they are united as one. Since it has already been called “the One,” it can of course also be described in words.

The “three” here refers to “Yi,” “Xi,” and “Wei.” “Cannot be fully explained” means that the Dao has no color, sound, or form; it cannot be expressed in words or transmitted through writing. It should be experienced with a quiet mind and understood through the spirit; it cannot be attained simply by asking questions. “Mixed” means united. The three names are united as one and are all, in essence, the Dao. People seek it from different angles—some try to see it, some to hear it, and some to grasp it—and so they give it different names according to what they encounter.

Above, the Dao is not bright and dazzling; below, it is not dark.

Wang Yuanze says: Everything that has form and substance contains Yin and Yang; brightness above and darkness below are the usual way of things. Only the Dao has no fixed form, and so it is a seamless whole. This explains the Dao’s constant underlying reality. Zhuangzi says, “Those who lose my Dao see brightness above, and below they turn into earth.”

The Dao, subtle and continuous, cannot be fully described with a name. In the end, it returns to a state without form or substance.

Lü Jifu says, “‘Continuous’ describes the Dao as unceasing, harmonious, and upright. It seems to have signs by which it can be recognized, yet it still cannot be named. Hence the saying that it returns to nothingness.”

This is called “the shape of what has no shape, the image of what has no image”—that is, “huhuang,” elusive and hard to grasp.

The Zuanwei explains that “returning to nothingness” does not mean that the Dao is merely empty and still. It means that although the Dao has no fixed form, it can generate every form; although it has no fixed image, it can bring forth and transform the myriad things. If we say it exists, we cannot see its form: this is being that contains nonbeing. If we say it does not exist, the myriad things are nevertheless generated from it: this is nonbeing that contains being. “Huang” means that being seems to approach nonbeing; “hu” means that nonbeing seems to approach being. The Dao is neither simply being nor simply nonbeing, and cannot be defined by any fixed name. That is why it is called “huhuang.”

Face it, and you cannot see its beginning; follow it, and you cannot see its end.

The Imperial Commentary says that the Dao has no starting point when it begins and no end when it concludes. Thus, whether one faces it or follows it, one cannot see its beginning or end.

Su Ziyou says that the Dao is everywhere, so there is no before or after to be seen.

Hold fast to the Dao that has existed since ancient times, and use it to govern the myriad things of the present.

Wang Bi says that although past and present differ, the Dao has always been there. Only by holding fast to the Dao can one govern the myriad things.

Lü Jifu says that the Dao has neither before nor after, and so there is no distinction between past and present. Yet the past and present have not thereby disappeared; we can still experience the Dao in our everyday practice. Hence the saying: hold fast to the Dao that has existed since ancient times, and you can respond to the affairs of the present.

To know the ancient origins of the myriad things is called grasping the Dao’s guiding principle—its fundamental law.

Lü Jifu says: “What is called ancient is not different from the present. If we understand where antiquity began, we can understand where the present came from. What is called the present is likewise not different from antiquity. If we understand the origins of the present, we can understand the beginnings of antiquity. To truly understand the beginning of antiquity is also to understand the source of the present. The beginning of the myriad things has no traceable source, and their destination has no traceable end. This is what is called the ‘guiding principle without beginning or end’—the fundamental order that has neither a starting point nor an endpoint. It is also the guiding principle of the Dao. The Dao cannot be seized or grasped. If one can apprehend its fundamental basis, one can hold fast to it and thereby realize De. Holding fast to De is what is meant by a guiding principle.”

Wang Yuanze says: “Trace things ever farther back, until reaching the time before the myriad things came into being, and it becomes clear that they came from nowhere. In this way, one apprehends the reality and guiding principle of the Dao. The guiding principle of the Dao is what does not change between ancient and present times; it is what Zhuangzi called the ‘guiding principle without beginning or end.’”

Li Tian says: “This chapter speaks of the Dao’s fundamental subtlety and its ability to act through the myriad things. Where do the myriad things come from? Trace them back to their beginning, and it becomes clear that they came from nowhere. In this way, one apprehends the reality and guiding principle of the Dao. The guiding principle of the Dao is what does not change between ancient and present times; it is what Zhuangzi called the ‘guiding principle without beginning or end.’”

Li Tian also says: “This chapter discusses the Dao’s subtle foundation and its application, which encompasses everything. If one seeks the Dao through sight and hearing, one ultimately finds nothing. If one tries to observe it through light and darkness, it remains so remote and hidden that it cannot be distinguished. No image of the myriad things can name it, and its beginning and end cannot be seen. Its workings are difficult to fathom, yet it can be used to guide purposeful action.”

Chapter Fifteen: The Ancient Masters Skilled in the Dao

Those in ancient times who were skilled in cultivating the Dao were subtle, mysterious, and adept at change. They were so profound that no one could understand them.

Duke Shu says: “‘Master’ is a name for someone devoted to serving the Dao. At first, such a person is still cultivating and serving the Dao. Upon completing their practice and becoming a sage, they become one with the Dao. The Dao itself cannot be fully expressed in words. Becoming one with the Dao is precisely what is meant by ‘subtle, mysterious, profound, and penetrating, so deep that they cannot be understood.’”

Lingxian says: “The Dao penetrates everywhere, and so it is called ‘skilled’; all that one undertakes is accomplished, and so one is called a ‘master.’ The previous chapter discusses holding fast to the ancient Dao in order to guide the present; this chapter discusses using the ancient Dao to lead the present.”

The previous chapter discusses the Dao as a whole; this chapter explains how those who cultivate the Dao embody it. “Subtle” is the opposite of what is evident: it refers to what is fine and hidden. “Mysterious” is the opposite of what is coarse and apparent: it refers to what is difficult to fathom. “Profound” means remote and unfathomable; “penetrating” means capable of endless change. Though the ancient masters skilled in the Dao possessed these qualities, they kept them deeply concealed, revealing nothing and allowing no one to fathom them. Thus no one could see through them. This is what is meant by “so deep that they cannot be understood.”

Only the Dao (the Way) is so profound, vast, and boundless that it is difficult to know. We can only try to describe what it is like.

The Imperial Commentary says: In ancient times, those skilled in cultivating the Dao held it within themselves, yet withdrew and concealed themselves in secluded places, making themselves hard to fathom. Who, then, could know them? Hence it is said that they were unfathomable.

The sky is so high that it cannot be measured all at once, and the earth so deep that it cannot be fully sounded. To say that the sky is round like a canopy and the earth square like a platform is merely to compare them by their shapes. Any attempt to describe the Dao can never truly probe its essence. What follows explains that the Dao is vast and difficult to know, and can only be described by approximation.

Those who cultivate the Dao are cautious, like someone crossing a river in winter, and alert, as though wary of the neighbors on every side.

Lü Jifu says: When Cook Ding butchered an ox, he first paused to take care. His gaze was intent, his movements slow, and he guided the knife with the utmost delicacy. This was like crossing a river in winter. “Yu” means planning ahead before an undertaking begins. Once the ox had been taken apart and the pieces of meat had fallen to the ground like clods of earth, Cook Ding stood holding his knife, looking around, lingering in quiet satisfaction. Then he wiped the knife clean and put it away. This was like being wary of the neighbors on every side. “You” means remaining cautious even after an undertaking is finished.

“Yu” means making plans before something has happened; “you” means continuing to feel some doubt even when things seem to have been settled. Water is called a “ford” when it rises above the knees, and a “river” where many streams come together. To cross a river is to face danger, and winter is the coldest season. Those who have reached the highest level in cultivating the Dao do not like to initiate affairs. They act only when they have no choice, and move only when compelled. They remain wary when faced with a task; hence the image of cautiously crossing a river in winter. Even after a task is complete, when there would normally be no more cause for concern, they still remind themselves to stay alert.

Those who have reached the highest level in cultivating the Dao are quiet and inward. They remain in the place where their nature finds repose, always guarded and restrained, like someone wary of the neighbors, never giving themselves free rein. They ward off improper thoughts and hold fast to sincerity. External things do not come seeking them, and their own intentions do not show themselves outwardly. Hence the image of being alert, as though wary of the neighbors on every side.

They are dignified and composed, like a guest.

Wang Yuanzhe says: Those who cultivate the Dao do not take worldly affairs upon themselves as their responsibility, and so their bearing is quiet and still.

A person who has the Dao is solemn and upright, cautious and exacting. Their mind is free of distracting thoughts, like a guest facing a host: how could they act carelessly?

Some commentaries explain “solemn” as referring to dignified bearing. Dongguo Shunzi composed his bearing to transform others, dispelling the distracting thoughts in their hearts; for this reason, Tian Zifang admired him. Other commentaries explain it as the respectful care one shows a guest. When Li Hanguang was alone in a dark room, he remained as cautious as if standing before his ruler and father, which greatly impressed Sima Ziwei.

“Scattered, as though ice were about to melt”: the state of the Dao is like ice on the verge of melting. The Imperial Commentary says that water freezes into ice, and ice melts back into water; originally, they are one. To cling to a fixed understanding is like water freezing into ice; to become attuned to the Great Dao is like ice melting away. The Yijing says that “scattering” means dispersal. To let go of attachment, with no ties or obstructions, is to be “scattered.”

The Shuo explains that “huan” means to disperse, hence the word “scattered.” Water is not originally ice; only when it encounters cold does it freeze. Human nature is not originally obstructed; only when it encounters external things does it become blocked and stagnant. When a person who has the Dao awakens completely, all clinging to things dissolves, like spring ice melting in an instant.

“Solid, like uncarved wood”: solid and sincere, like wood that has not been carved. The Imperial Commentary says that “solid” means weighty to the utmost degree. Nature is originally whole and substantial, like wood before it has been fashioned into an object. This describes the complete state of nature. The Daodejing says, “Return to the uncarved simplicity.”

“Vast, like a valley”: open and spacious, like a valley. The Imperial Commentary says that “vast” means expansive to the utmost degree. Nature is originally without boundaries, like an empty valley: it can contain all things and respond to them as they come. This describes the emptiness and stillness of nature. The Daodejing says, “The highest De is like a valley.”

“Muddled, like turbid water”: undifferentiated, like muddy water. Wang Bi says that a person who has the Dao gathers in their brilliance and does not let it shine outward. Their appearance is no different from that of ordinary people; they seem to mingle with the dusty world. Hence, they are described as “like turbid water.” Yangzi says that when things come together, they form a muddled whole; when separated, they disperse.

Yang Zi said, “When things come together, they form an undivided whole; when separated, each disperses on its own. Those who blend with the world do not deliberately set themselves apart from ordinary life, so they seem muddied. This is what Zhuangzi meant by ‘following along with the myriad things and rising and falling together with them.’ They differ from those who deliberately refine themselves and prize their personal conduct, thereby withdrawing from the world and making themselves exceptional. Those truly adept at cultivating the Dao are cautious, like someone wading across a river in winter, and do not act rashly. They guard against calamity and prepare for consequences in advance. Like guests rather than hosts, they do not presume to take the lead. They are also like ice that melts and does not congeal again: plain and able to preserve their original nature, as empty as a valley. Though they seem muddied, they do not appear at odds with ordinary life. This is what is called being so profound as to defy understanding; one can only manage to sketch what such a person is like.”

“Who can let muddy water settle until it is clear? Only by becoming still can clarity gradually emerge.”

Wang Yuanze said, “Clarifying the mind and nature is like clarifying water. The more you work at it and stir it, the muddier the water becomes. Only by waiting quietly does it gradually grow clear. Those who have the Dao can describe this state only approximately because they understand this principle.”

“Who can let muddy water settle until it is clear? Only by becoming still can clarity gradually emerge.”

Wang Yuanze also said, “Clarifying the mind and nature is like clarifying water. The more you stir it, the muddier it becomes. Only by waiting quietly does it gradually grow clear. Those who have the Dao are not muddied by external things precisely because they can become still and let the mind and nature grow clear little by little.”

Cao Daochong said, “Must we drift with the current and forget to return? Better to quiet the mind and let ourselves gradually become clear.”

“Who can remain still and hold fast for long? Once one acts, vitality gradually appears.”

The imperial commentary says: A person who has the Dao can remain inwardly calm while acting, unfolding freely at every moment without losing sight of where he belongs. At rest, he can still respond to change; he is empty and unattached, yet able to meet what things require. Thus, when he settles into stillness, he gradually becomes clear, and nothing can cloud his mind. When he acts, he gives rise to things in keeping with their natural course, and nothing can make him remain fixed and unmoving.

The Book of Changes says, “It comes slowly.” Here, “slowly” means proceeding with ease and composure, at peace with oneself. The Perfected Person, whose cultivation has reached a profound level, does not regard sheer stillness as good, nor deliberately pursue quiet. He does not claim as his own achievement the bringing forth of the myriad things, nor does he deliberately control that process. He simply follows the natural condition of things, allowing them to unfold on their own. He is not alarmed by urgency or exhausted by haste.

Thus, when he settles into stillness, he gradually becomes clear. Nothing among the myriad things can disturb his mind—what, then, could cloud it? When he acts, he gives rise to things in keeping with their natural course. Nothing among the myriad things can entangle his thoughts—what, then, could make him stagnate? “At rest” can mean coming to a halt. If he is held back by external things, he will stop. How, then, could he respond to the myriad things without being harmed?

“One who keeps to this Dao does not seek fullness.”

Ma Jiji says: One who keeps to the Dao does not seek fullness because the Dao takes emptiness as its foundation. If one becomes full and possesses things, one becomes easy for others to see through.

“Precisely because he does not seek fullness…”

Lü Jifu says: This passage does not say “empty,” but repeatedly says “not full,” for fear that people will cling to “emptiness.” If emptiness itself becomes something one clings to, it is no longer true emptiness. That is why it says only “perhaps not full” and “does not seek fullness.”

In this way, old things can be prevented from growing into new troubles.

Wang Yuanze says: Those who attain the Dao are never self-satisfied. Thus, those who realize the Dao do not regard themselves as entirely new and independent beings. The Dao operates throughout the ages and never declines, because it has no decay and does not think itself accomplished; therefore, it cannot be ruined. Decline often arises from thinking oneself newly born, and ruin often arises from thinking oneself successful. Even when cultivators of the Dao achieve something, they still often regard themselves as though they were in decline, and in the end they do not decline.

This chapter speaks of cultivators who, having realized the Great Dao, reach a state so profound that it is difficult to fathom. Its closing phrase, “not wishing to be full,” means not seeking self-satisfaction, but remaining empty. In emptiness there is no fixed thing, so how could people see through it? Among the ancients who upheld this Dao, Yu the Great was neither self-satisfied nor arrogant, and Confucius did not claim to be a sage. Laozi best embodied an open and humble mind; Yan Hui was outwardly abundant yet inwardly modest. This shows what is meant by “the Dao gathers in emptiness.”

Chapter Sixteen: Reaching the Utmost Void

Bring the mind to the utmost emptiness, and steadfastly maintain profound stillness.

The Imperial Commentary says: Nothing is more precious than emptiness, and nothing is better than stillness. Emptiness and stillness are the root of all things. Because of emptiness, all that is substantial can be accommodated; because of stillness, all movement and change can be met.

“Utmost” is the point at which all affairs converge; “steadfast” is the state reached through firm practice. Bring the mind’s emptiness to its furthest point and maintain stillness in its deepest state: then, though the myriad conditions of the outside world are tangled and diverse, the mind remains clear and open; though the changes of all things differ, the mind remains peaceful and still. This is called “heavenly joy,” the ease that accords with nature. Those who have not truly realized the Great Dao cannot reach this state.

Zhong Hui says: “Reaching” means arriving at a state. Set aside emotions and thoughts, and bring the mind to complete emptiness; let the mind remain still at all times, and so maintain stillness in its depth.

To reach emptiness is to be like a valley, able to hold all things without retaining even a speck of dust: this may be called reaching the utmost. To maintain stillness is to be like water, able to meet every kind of activity without the slightest disturbance: this may be called reaching profound depth.

All things grow and move together; from this I observe how they return to their source.

Yan Zun says: Heaven and earth endure because they move in cycles of coming and going. After sleep and rest, people recover their clarity. When dragons and snakes reach the height of their flourishing, they too return to a hidden state.

Yan Zun says: Heaven and Earth revolve and return, and so they endure. After sleep and rest, a person’s spirit is restored, and the ears hear clearly and the eyes see sharply. When dragons and snakes lie hidden and recuperate, they later emerge full of vitality; when plants and trees return to their roots and store up life force, they grow green again. After all things transform, they return to their roots. The spirits then settle in their proper places and connect with emptiness. The hun and po souls are restored and at peace, each dwelling in its proper place; the mind is calm, the breath flows smoothly, and the blood vessels are in harmony. These are only temporary returns to stillness, yet they can restore the spirit. How much more so when one returns for a long time to the utmost Dao?

“Self” refers to the “I” that can govern and observe all things. With utmost emptiness and stillness, I observe the arising and transformation of all things. Though I can perceive them, I do not change along with them. Thus it is said: “From this, I observe how all things return to their root.”

All things flourish, and each must return to its root.

Wen Gong says: All things arise from “nonbeing” and ultimately return to “nonbeing.”

Wang Yuanze says: All things bring forth their functions from their nature, and ultimately return to that nature as their root. Though animals and plants differ, the principle they follow is the same.

Returning to the root is called “stillness.”

Su Ziyou says: If one cannot return one’s nature to its root, then even stopping one’s activities and quieting distracting thoughts in pursuit of calm is not true stillness. Only returning to the root can be called stillness.

At birth, people are originally still; this is the nature bestowed by Heaven. Restoring one’s nature brings one back to stillness.

This stillness is called “returning to life’s mandate”—that is, returning to life’s original state.

Lu Dian says: The “root” refers to one’s nature. If one cannot return one’s nature to its root, then even stopping one’s activities and quieting distracting thoughts in pursuit of calm is not true stillness; only returning to the root is true stillness. At birth, people are originally still; this is the nature bestowed by Heaven. Restoring one’s nature brings one back to stillness. This stillness is called “returning to life’s mandate.”

Lu Dian says that when we speak of a “root,” we know there is also what is called a “basis”; when we speak of “life-destiny,” we know there is also what is called “nature.” Thus, “Returning to the root is called stillness”: here, “returning” means going back to the basis. “Stillness is called returning to life-destiny” means that “returning to the root” is a return to one’s original nature.

The Zhuangzi says, “Rooted in itself and based in itself, it existed firmly from ancient times, before there was Heaven and Earth.” Here, “rooted in itself” refers to “Returning to the root is called stillness”; “based in itself” refers to “Stillness is called returning to life-destiny”; and “from ancient times” refers to “Returning to life-destiny is called constancy.” To be “based in itself” means that it depends on no other basis. To be “rooted in itself” means that it did not arise from some source. To exist “from ancient times” means that it has never passed through any earlier past.

Although the scripture says, “Returning to the root is called stillness; stillness is called returning to life-destiny; returning to life-destiny is called constancy,” all three phrases ultimately refer to the same root. The root is mentioned first and the basis afterward; nature comes first and life-destiny second—this is simply the order of the wording. “Return” suggests that one has not yet arrived, while “revert” suggests that one has arrived. “Root” does not yet reach the ultimate point; “life-destiny” is the ultimate destination. The state entered through “reverting” is profound.

“Returning to life-destiny is called constancy.”

Wang Yuanze says that at birth, a person enters the world of form and things. Once in this world, they are subject to the decrees of life-destiny. As a result, subtle, ceaseless change never pauses, even for an instant. Only by returning to one’s original life-destiny can one attain a clear, settled, and perpetually still state that external things cannot alter.

To receive life from the Dao is called “life-destiny.” To return to life-destiny is to go back to the place from which life originally came and become one with the Dao. Then one can endure through all ages, past and present.

“Knowing constancy is called clarity.”

Prince Shu says that “constancy” means remaining unchanged from time without beginning. Recognizing this constancy is called “clarity.”

Nothing apart from the Dao is constant. Though the Dao is real and constant, it has neither form nor name. Without this understanding, few can avoid being misled by external things.

“Not knowing constancy, one acts recklessly and brings misfortune.”

The Imperial Commentary says that sages understand the “constant Dao,” the eternal and unchanging principle. They therefore conduct themselves and act in accordance with reason, and often encounter good fortune. Those who do not understand the constant Dao change with external things, inviting misfortune at every turn. They cannot preserve their lives and so meet with danger.

Sun Deng says that if one cannot return to the root and maintain stillness, one’s lifespan will be diminished and the constant Dao lost. This is what brings danger.

Most people do not understand the true meaning of the constant Dao. Instead, they take what is deluded and illusory to be normal. They crave pleasure and act recklessly, ultimately straying from the constant Dao and exhausting their lives. This is “reckless action brings danger.”

Understanding constancy brings tolerance.

Su Ziyou says that when people are lost in delusion, they think themselves right and regard others and all things as adversaries. How could they make room for them? But if they understand that all attachments are illusory, then even when facing an enemy they will feel compassion. What, then, could they not tolerate?

Tolerance brings impartiality.

Heshang Gong says that one who can embrace all things can be impartial, and then no kind of evil can stand against them.

The Book of Rites says: “When the Great Dao prevailed, all under Heaven belonged to everyone. People honored not only their own parents, but also the parents of others as elders; they cared not only for their own children, but also treated the children of others as their own.”

Impartiality brings the way of the king.

Prince Shu says that abandoning selfishness makes one impartial, and fully bringing this virtue to bear makes kingly rule possible. Impartiality is virtue; kingship is achievement. Virtue is held within the heart, while kingly achievement is displayed outwardly. Their union shows how inner virtue and outward achievement are joined.

Cheng Xuanying says that “king” also means “to which all return.” When one is impartial, all things come to one.

The way of the king reaches Heaven.

Wang Yuanze says that kingship is the highest state attainable through the human way. By bringing the human way to its fullest, one can reach the way of Heaven.

Heaven is one with the Dao.

The Imperial Commentary says that the king is one who unites Heaven, Earth, and humanity, standing among them; Heaven is unified and vast, elevated above and covering all things; and the Dao is what Heaven, Earth, and humanity all follow. Bring the human way to its fullest, and it becomes one with Heaven. Understand and follow Heaven, and one becomes one with the Dao.

Only by joining with the Dao can one endure.

Lu Yu says, “‘Enduring’ means lasting for a long time. The realm of the Dao is vast and boundless, like the great emptiness; it has neither coming nor going. When the mind accords with the utmost realm, it neither arises nor perishes, but merges completely with nature, with no distinction between them. To accord with this principle is called ‘enduring.’”

“His whole life free from danger” means that he remains free from danger until the end of his life.

The New Explanation says: “Heaven takes the Dao as its model, hence ‘Heaven is the Dao.’ The Dao makes no distinction between past and present, hence ‘the Dao is enduring.’ When the Dao reaches the state of endurance, people too can remain free from danger throughout their lives. Who can achieve this?”

This chapter centers on “returning to the root and restoring one’s original nature.” It therefore begins by speaking of emptiness and stillness, and concludes with “the Dao is enduring.” Emptiness and stillness are the root of the Dao. To abandon them and try to enter the Dao is like leaving a boat behind and attempting to cross a river on foot: it is the wrong way.

Chapter Seventeen of the Supreme Classic

The highest kind of ruler is one whose existence the people merely know of.

Wang Yuanze says: “In the age of the Three Sovereigns, the ruler governed through Wuwei, allowing the people to live as each wished, yet they did not know how this came about. How could such a ruler be cherished and praised by the people?”

Ma Jiji says: “The people knew that a ruler existed, but did not feel that they were serving him. This was the situation in the age of the Three Sovereigns. The ‘You Tai clan’ described by Zhuangzi slept peacefully and awoke at ease; at one moment they saw themselves as horses, at another as oxen. This portrays a state of following nature, wholly unaware.”

“Supreme” refers to the nameless rulers of high antiquity. “Supreme” conveys greatness without limit, while “highest” means loftiest. Their Wuwei governance reached the greatest and loftiest state, which later generations could not surpass; hence they were called “supreme.” “The people merely know of his existence” means that the people knew there was a ruler, but did not feel themselves to be under his rule.

The next kind of ruler is one whom the people cherish and praise.

Ma JujI said, “Kindness and care belong to benevolence, so the people grow close to their ruler. Rewards and punishments belong to righteousness, so the people praise their ruler. Yet once a ruler governs by relying on affection and praise, the bond between ruler and people has already grown distant, and praise has already been corrupted. Why is this so? Because such rule has still not transcended human contrivance. This refers to the age of the two emperors Yao and Shun. Zhuangzi said, ‘The Yu clan (Shun) did not measure up to Tai Shi, the ancient ruler of natural simplicity.’”

Yao’s benevolence and virtue were as vast as the sky, and the people drew close to him as they would to the sun. When Shun went to Dengxu, a place name, a hundred thousand households followed him. This was the people drawing close to him. People praised Yao along the great roads that ran in every direction, and sang songs in praise of Shun. This was the people praising them.

After this, the people came to fear their ruler, or even to despise him.

The Zuanwei explains: “‘Did not measure up to Tai Shi.’ Yao’s benevolence and virtue were as vast as the sky, and the people drew close to him as they would to the sun. When Shun went to Dengxu, a hundred thousand households followed him. This was the people drawing close to him. People praised Yao along the great roads, and sang songs in praise of Shun. This was the people praising them.

“After this, the people came to fear their ruler, or even to despise him.”

The Zuanwei says: When benevolence and righteousness decline and are lost, penal laws are established, and the people consequently fear their ruler.

Ma JujI said: This refers to the rulers of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties. Zhuangzi said, “In the age of the Three Kings, the world was greatly shaken. The rulers prized cleverness, and the people were worn out by the effort it demanded; so ingenious methods, like drilling holes and carving passages, arose one after another.” When intelligence develops to its extreme, profound hypocrisy follows. If rulers use deceit and cunning to force the people into service, the people in turn fool and despise their rulers. Punishments are not enough to make them afraid or repent. This refers to the age of the Five Hegemons of the Spring and Autumn period. Mencius said, “The Five Hegemons merely acted in the name of benevolence and righteousness.”

Wang Yuanze said: When a ruler loses virtue and fails to issue proper commands, the people despise him.

When trust is insufficient, the people do not trust their ruler.

The Imperial Commentary says: To be closely joined without glue or lacquer, and to keep an agreement without being bound by ropes—this is true trust. After people in the Shang swore oaths, the people began to betray one another; after people in the Zhou made covenants, the people began to doubt one another. Both were cases of trust being insufficient. The best ruler governs the world, and the people know only that he exists; they do not feel that he is deliberately demanding their trust. When the people come to fear or despise their ruler, it shows that deceit has entered the relationship between ruler and people. Smooth cunning and expedient tactics then multiply, and the people no longer trust their ruler.

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang said: When the people fear or despise their ruler, it is because the ruler lacks trustworthiness, and this causes ruler and subjects to distrust one another.

A ruler must also value his words and be careful in issuing commands.

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang added: When the people draw close to and praise their ruler, it shows that he governs well. When they fear or despise him, it is because he lacks trustworthiness and has caused ruler and subjects to lose trust in one another. A ruler must also value his words and be careful in issuing commands.

Emperor Tang Xuanzong said: The people draw close to and praise their ruler because he guides them with words of virtuous instruction. The people therefore value those words and draw close to and praise the ruler.

Ma Jiji said: A ruler’s words are not inherently worthy of esteem, yet the people still esteem them. This shows that the finest governance is when the ruler issues few commands and the people are naturally transformed. From then on, emperors began to establish statutes and instructions, while feudal lords also had oaths and proclamations.

When affairs were settled and achievements completed, the people all said, “We were simply like this all along.”

The Imperial Commentary says: The achievements of emperors are matters that sages accomplish incidentally while governing the world. If the people have food that suits their tastes, clothes that meet their needs, secure homes, and take pleasure in their livelihoods, then the rest will naturally suffice to bring about the ruler’s achievements. Yet the people will only say that they did it all of their own accord. They will ask, “What does the ruler’s power have to do with us?” This is the finest governance.

Emperor Tang Xuanzong said: Once achievements are complete, the ruler does not claim them as his own; once affairs are settled, he does not act deliberately. The people then believe everything happened naturally. What, after all, does the ruler’s power have to do with them?

This chapter discusses how the methods of governance differed across the dynasties, and how the people’s customs changed accordingly. When the Dao declined, governance turned to De; when De declined further, punishments began to be used. When punishments still could not restrain the people, matters eventually developed into deceit and transgression. Such is indeed how things unfold.