《道德真经取善集(李霖)》Vol. 3

Duke Huan of Qi craved fine food, so Yi Ya cooked his own son for him to eat. The ruler of Yu prized treasures, so Duke Xian of Jin lured him into a trap with jade and fine horses. The Hu ruler loved music, so Duke Mu of Qin deceived him with singing, dancing, and female performers. All these men were controlled by others because they coveted gain.

The soft and yielding can overcome the hard and strong.

The Imperial Commentary says: “The Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue) says, ‘Nothing in the world is softer and weaker than water, yet nothing is better than water at wearing down what is hard and strong.’” The Outer Chapters of the Zhuangzi uses a tale of Kui, the serpent, the wind, and the eye envying one another to show that each has its own strengths. Some can point with a finger; others can blow down or snap great trees and overturn large houses. Only the wind can do these things.

Zhong Hui says: “To subdue what is strong, one must appear yielding. First open wide, then draw in; the outcome of the contest can then be foreseen.”

Emperor Ming of Tang says: “Humility and compliance allow one to act with flexibility. Once expedient measures are put into practice, they can bring things under control. From this we can know that the soft and yielding will surely overcome the hard and strong.”

Look closely at the human body: the teeth are hard, yet they decay and fall out first; the tongue is soft, yet it can remain intact for a long time. Look farther afield at the myriad things: mountains rise high and are therefore easily worn down; lakes and marshes lie low, yet gather water and soil and grow ever richer.

Fish cannot leave the deep waters. The state’s instruments of power—the authorities and means bound up with governance and state secrets—must not be shown lightly to others.

The Imperial Commentary says: “The deep” is the place where fish take refuge; “sharp instruments” are the means a state uses to govern and control people. A large fish can swallow an entire boat, but once it is stranded out of water, even ants can harm it. That is why fish cannot leave the depths.

When a ruler openly grants rewards, ministers use those rewards to build their own influence. When a ruler openly imposes punishments, ministers use them to wield authority. Rewards and punishments are tools of statecraft, yet they should not be displayed carelessly—how much less, then, should the fundamental principles of governing be revealed? The sage holds the key to governing the state but does not expose it. This is not because he relies on forceful control, but because he has grasped subtle principles. He can govern the world without earning a reputation for showing off his wisdom; he can bring all things into accord without boasting of his bravery. He does not prevail by overpowering all things, but by mastering the constant way of prevailing. At times he reveals himself, at times he conceals himself, changing without end. He directs his ministers and governs the world without letting others see through him. Thus he can control others without being controlled by them. The key is for the ruler to occupy the leading position; then the world can be governed.

Lü Jifu says: People must not abandon gentleness and weakness, just as fish must not leave the depths. A fish that leaves the depths will be caught; a person who abandons gentleness and weakness moves toward death. The softest things in the world can pass through the hardest; “nonbeing” can enter where there is no gap. This is a power like that of sharp instruments. When this power is used to govern the world, the state’s workings and influence often remain unseen. How could anyone tell where they come from? Hence the saying: “The sharp instruments of the state must not be shown to the people.”

Wang Yuanzé says: Fish follow gentleness and weakness, hiding in deep places to preserve their lives. The sage, too, withdraws into obscurity, allowing governance and its workings to take place unseen. How could anyone tell where they come from? Hence the saying: “The sharp instruments of the state must not be shown to the people.”

Wang Yuanze says: Fish are adept at following the current and remaining yielding. They hide in deep, remote, shadowy waters and thereby preserve their lives. The sage, too, withdraws to a deep and hidden place, holds the crucial authority, and makes plans alone, allowing the myriad things to move in ways that are difficult to perceive. Thus he can transform the powers of Heaven and Earth, yet people do not see his strength. His might can bring all under Heaven to submission, yet no one calls him a man of force and arms. How could this mean displaying the power of the spirits for all to see and discuss?

I have privately reflected that what sets the sage apart from ordinary people is his ability to sense the signs of change in advance. If one meets things with force and they respond with force, they are difficult to overcome. When everyone under Heaven strives to prevail through force, I alone remain in a yielding place, without contention. Once I act and apply my strength, who could resist me? The Dao of Heaven confirms this: after autumn and winter, spring and summer inevitably arrive. The sage hides in what is deep and subtle, presenting himself as yielding, while the myriad things move unseen. Even the spirits cannot know where the changes come from. This is what is meant by acting in secret and bringing things to transformation alone. The original text repeats this passage here.

The Book of Changes says, “The yielding acts through changing circumstances,” meaning that one exercises adaptability through yielding. The Zhuangzi says, “He found inspiration in the fish,” and its meaning accords with this passage.

This chapter explains how to adapt through yielding, and how the weak overcome the strong. One first opens out, then draws back; the yielding can overcome the strong. This makes the principle clear. People cannot do without yielding, just as fish cannot do without deep water. The sage possesses useful instruments but does not display them. He relies not on force but on yielding; this is how he is able to prevail again and again.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Dao Always Acts Without Action

The Dao always lets things follow their own nature and does not deliberately impose action, yet nothing is left undone.

Shu Wang says: The previous chapter says, “The Dao is always nameless,” and discusses the Dao’s root. This chapter says, “The Dao always acts without action,” and discusses how the Dao changes and functions.

Ling Gou says: “The Dao has no physical form, yet one may speak of a ‘formless form.’ It exists independently and never changes, while its original nature remains in a state of utter stillness and emptiness. The Dao has no specific function in itself, yet it has ‘a function that encompasses everything.’ It moves in a continuous cycle without a fixed beginning, and its function extends to all things. Because the Dao exists independently and does not change, it is silent and unmoving, its original nature whole and undivided. Because it moves without ceasing, it responds and reaches through whatever it encounters, its function extending everywhere. In its original nature, the Dao is not a particular entity; in its function, it is not any specific operation. Though it is Wuwei (non-action), it does not thereby fail to respond to all things or to reach through change. Though it acts in all ways, it always remains accompanied by a state of silent stillness. The Dao simply responds in accord with the changes of things, and so it often appears to act in every way; yet at its root and final return, its constant state is still Wuwei.”

The Dao takes Wuwei as its constant state. Precisely because it does not act, it can act in every way. “Wuwei” means silent stillness; it is the Dao’s true original nature, the so-called “formless form.” “Acting in every way” means responding and then reaching through; it is the Dao’s true function, the so-called “function that has no fixed purpose yet encompasses everything.” Hence the saying: “The Dao is constantly without action, yet nothing is left undone.”

If the rulers and kings can hold to this principle…

Wang Yuanzhe says: If a ruler governs the state with the Dao as the foundation, he will follow the circumstances of the time and act according to the principles of things, without deliberately forcing matters. Though he himself remains inactive, he does not prevent the people of the realm from acting freely in their own way. Even when all the affairs of the realm are under way, the ruler has not deliberately interfered. Just as Heaven speaks no words, yet the four seasons continue their course and all things continue to grow. The way for rulers and kings to govern the realm has already been fully embodied by Heaven.

All things will then transform of themselves.

The Imperial Commentary says: When rulers and kings hold to the Dao in governing the realm, they can abide in the state of Wuwei. Their actions arise from non-action, nurturing and extending to all things. The transformations of things seem to arise naturally from their own nature, without any sense that someone is driving them; this is why it is called “self-transformation.”

Lord Shu says: This passage speaks of the Dao as sovereign, and therefore says, “All things will come of themselves as guests.” It speaks of the Dao moving along with change, and therefore says, “All things will transform of themselves.”

When the feudal lords and kings hold fast to the Great Dao, they can practice Wuwei (non-action: following nature without forcing interference). Then, through the working of the Dao, the myriad things transform of themselves, and nothing remains unaccomplished. Zhuangzi said, “With Wuwei, the myriad things come into being and transform of themselves.”

Once the myriad things have transformed on their own, if a desire to contrive then arises,

Shu Wang said, “When change and development reach a certain point, they are subject to restraint; this is called ‘transformation.’” This means that once a desire to contrive arises amid the changes of the myriad things, restless action begins.

Wang Yuanze said: The myriad things change continually and develop day by day, like an infant growing up. But if this development continues, human schemes and deliberations will inevitably multiply, while the harmony bestowed by nature gradually declines. The later periods of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties show this clearly: customs grew increasingly shallow, and things fell into decay.

I will use the uncarved, nameless simplicity—the Dao’s natural state, untouched by human artifice and beyond naming—to bring them to rest.

The Zuanwei says: The teaching embodied in the Sage’s De is always adept at helping people according to their needs. Even if someone does not accept the teaching, one can first cultivate oneself and become truly virtuous, then extend this cultivation throughout the world so that the teaching is practiced everywhere. If the feudal lords and kings understand and uphold this principle, and extend their cultivation throughout the world, will they not also be able to make the teaching universal? To share one’s Dao with everyone in the world without reservation is benevolence. To wish that the whole world receive it, beginning with the feudal lords and kings, is righteousness. Yet scholars see only the scripture’s call to cast aside benevolence and righteousness, and conclude that Laozi scorns them; so they refuse to accept his teaching. Alas, they have failed to understand what Laozi means by casting aside the names of benevolence and righteousness. Small wonder they reject it.

Lu Xisheng said: The opening of this chapter takes the constant Dao as its substance, and the constant name as its function—its manifestation. It concludes with “again, the mysterious.” This chapter, in turn, takes Wuwei as its substance and “nothing left undone” as its function, while “forgetting both”—clinging to neither side of an opposition—guides the whole discussion. The beginning and the end run through one another, giving a complete account of the Dao’s root and its workings.

Human beings are born in stillness; this is the nature bestowed by Heaven. When they are stirred by things and act, this is the desire of their nature. Even with the Dao of uncarved, nameless simplicity, one must avoid giving rise to desires recklessly in order to quiet one’s nature and first bring oneself into proper order. Then people throughout the world will come into proper order naturally, without needing to be deliberately restrained.

Li Tian said: The Great Dao takes emptiness and stillness as its enduring reality, and responding to the myriad things as its subtle function. If the feudal lords and kings can hold fast to this enduring reality and remain still and unmoving, while modeling themselves on its subtle function by responding and engaging with things, then the myriad things will return to simplicity, and the world will naturally come into proper order.

Upright conduct allows the world to return naturally to the right way.

Li Tian said: The Great Dao takes emptiness and stillness as its constant essence, and responding to all things as its wondrous function. If rulers keep to this constancy, remaining inwardly still and free of rash action, and also emulate the Dao’s wondrous function by responding to things as they arise and understanding their principles, then all things will return to simplicity, and the world will naturally be at peace.

This chapter opens with “The Dao is constantly Wuwei (non-action), yet nothing is left undone,” and ends with “Without desire, through stillness, the world will set itself right.” If the mind still clings to the aim of restoring simplicity, this is not truly Wuwei. Only when even the very idea of “simplicity” is forgotten does the Dao remain constantly in Wuwei. The world’s natural return to what is right is precisely how the Dao leaves nothing undone.

End of Volume Five of Collected Explanations of the Dao De Jing.

Volume Six of Collected Explanations of the Dao De Jing

Compiled by Li Lin, a lay practitioner from Raoyang in the Song dynasty.

The imperial commentary says: The Dao has no fixed form or boundaries, while De (Virtue/Power) can be fulfilled or diminished. When one unites with the Dao, there is no “De” that can be named. When De is distinguished from the Dao, specific names can be discerned. Benevolence, righteousness, ritual propriety, and wisdom are virtues that people receive according to their individual endowments and put into practice in response to the times. Those who realize the Great Dao are different from this. That is why the Dao De Jing places the related teachings in its second part.

Wang Yuanze said: De means “to obtain.” All things arise from the Dao, and each receives a part of the Dao; this is its nature. To obtain one’s nature and not lose it is the fulfillment of De. De has never been separate from the Dao, but people who possess virtues often lose the Dao through selfishness. The true realized person is not like this: the substance of nature, life, the Dao, and De is blended into one. These four names are merely terms used in response to different circumstances in the world. I cannot say how they differ, nor can I say that they are entirely the same. This is mysterious De.

Yet De ultimately carries the meaning of “obtaining.” How can it be kept from being lost? Only by taking “obtaining nothing” as De, and by having De without considering oneself to possess it, can one reach the utmost. This is the one who realizes the Great Dao, not one who deliberately displays virtue.

Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Highest De Does Not Display De

The highest De does not deliberately present itself as De; therefore, it truly possesses De.

The Imperial Commentary says: The way all things grow and develop is called “De” (Virtue). All things receive life and nourishment from the Dao, yet quietly accord with it. When something has passed, they feel no regret; when something is accomplished, they do not claim to have gained anything. This is called “not possessing De.” Confucius did not regard himself as a sage, yet he displayed sage virtue when the moment called for it. For this very reason, he truly had De.

Wang Bi says: A person of Upper De follows the Dao alone. He does not treat De as his own achievement, nor cling to it or act deliberately; therefore, he is able to embody De.

Gushenzi says: A person of Upper De does not consider himself to possess De, because he accords with the Dao. “De” also means “to attain”—that is, to attain the Dao. A person of Upper De accords with the Dao, yet has no thought of “I have attained something”; thus he embodies the De of stillness and purity. The Jing (scripture) says, “Though it is called attaining the Dao, in truth there is nothing to attain.” The highest ritual does not cling to ceremony; the highest righteousness does not cling to outward things; the highest wisdom does not rely on clever schemes; and the highest benevolence makes no distinctions of closeness or distance. Not clinging to ceremony or things, not relying on schemes, and making no distinctions of closeness or distance—all this means not claiming to possess De. To make no such claim is to reach the highest level of De. Hence it is called “Upper De.” The Jing says, “Upper De is like a valley, open and receptive.”

A person of Lower De clings to De and refuses to lose it; therefore, he has no true De.

The Imperial Commentary says: If you regard De as your own possession and claim it for yourself, you will lose the Dao. What De could you then have?

Cheng Xuanying says: A person of Lower De has not yet reached the fullness of De, which is why it is called “lower.” He clings to De and keeps it constantly in mind; hence it is said that he “does not lose De.”

Su Ziyou says: The sage follows his heart without transgressing the bounds of the law. He does not deliberately pursue De, yet De naturally becomes abundant. Those at a lower level know that De is precious, so they pursue it by force and strive not to lose it. This is merely a forced effort to preserve themselves—how could it be called true De?

Gushenzi says: The “De” in the phrase “Lower De does not lose De” also means “attainment.”

A person of Lower De fragments the complete Dao into separate virtues to be pursued deliberately. Thus he forces himself to practice benevolence, consciously enacts righteousness, clings to ritual, and uses clever schemes in pursuit of wisdom. Though in name he has not lost these virtues, he has already drifted far from the Dao; hence it is said that he “has no De.”

The highest De acts naturally through Wuwei (non-action), without deliberately setting out to do anything.

The Imperial Commentary says: To understand without deliberation, to accord with the Middle without forcing it, and to achieve without deliberate action—this is the highest De.

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang says: Knowing that one should practice Wuwei and then deliberately putting Wuwei into practice does not yet reach the highest level. The highest level is to make no goal of “non-action,” but to abide in it naturally.

Wang Yuanzhe says: A person of the highest De acts naturally through Wuwei and makes no deliberate plans for what to do. Their De is already complete in itself.

Cao Daochong says: The highest De is naturally Wuwei from the outset; it does not deliberately give rise to the thought of “non-action.”

Lü Jifu says: The highest De is Wuwei, not because one deliberately refrains from doing anything, but because one follows nature and is simply as one is. In practice, there is no deliberate action.

Gu Huan says: The highest De transforms people through Wuwei and teaches without words, leaving no visible trace of its actions. Hence it is called “non-action”: what is done bears no trace of deliberate display, and the mind harbors no desires. This is why it is said to act without a purpose.

The Wuwei of the highest De does not seek the fine reputation of “non-action.” Rather, the mind cultivates simplicity, and by following nature one abides in Wuwei. Hence it is said to act without a purpose: neither thought nor outward conduct involves deliberate action.

The lower De acts, and does so intentionally.

Lü Jifu says: Those of lower De do not understand that virtue should arise naturally. They therefore act deliberately and cannot help but take purposeful action. When De is naturally abundant, it is already sufficient; if one then deliberately practices benevolence, that becomes intentional action.

Those of lower De cannot understand without deliberating, nor reach their aims without taking action. They therefore cannot attain Wuwei and are bound to act purposefully.

The highest Ren (benevolence) acts, but not for its own ends.

The Imperial Commentary says: Yao and Shun governed the world in keeping with their nature and brought peace to it, not for their own private gain. Hence they are said to act without a purpose.

The Riverbank Duke says: To aid everyone without favoring anyone is the highest form of Ren, which is why it is called “the highest Ren.” “Acting” refers to bestowing kindness. Once the work is done, one takes no credit; once the task is complete, one does not cling to its results. In other words, one does not become attached to one’s own actions.

Prince Shuo said, “‘Seven’ refers to having something one favors and someone to whom one feels close. Once there is such closeness and affection, it is impossible to practice Wuwei (non-action), without acting deliberately from private motives. The circumstances one level below this can be inferred from it.”

Wang Yu Ze said, “‘Transformation’ is the highest expression of goodness and another name for De (Virtue/Power). Once it is called ‘De,’ if the heart also has something it favors and someone to whom it feels close, it is impossible to practice Wuwei. The circumstances at lower levels can be inferred from this.”

Wang Yu Ze also said, “‘Transformation’ is the highest expression of goodness and another name for De. Once it is distinguished from De, deliberate action has already begun. Yet the Sage’s teaching follows and fully brings out people’s nature, achieving what is fitting without needing to impose anything additional; therefore, it involves no deliberate effort. The highest form of righteousness, by contrast, requires action undertaken with a clear purpose.”

The Imperial Commentary says, “‘Righteousness’ is the standard by which one weighs what is between oneself and others and judges what is appropriate. If one uses it to establish one’s position and handle affairs, how can that be called Wuwei?”

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang said, “Righteousness means judging and correcting what departs from the proper Way. ‘Acting’ means judging right and wrong according to righteousness; ‘acting with something as one’s basis’ means using judgment and decision to bring matters into proper measure. Thus, this kind of action is visible both in the heart and in outward conduct.”

The Miscellaneous Explanations say, “The highest De is Wuwei, without deliberate effort, as with the Sovereign Fu Xi. The highest benevolence acts but without a clear purpose, as with Yao and Shun. The highest righteousness acts with a clear purpose, as with Tang and Wu. Tang and Wu therefore belong to the highest righteousness. Someone also asked: ‘Tang and Wu were great Sages. How can they be said to belong to a lower grade of De?’ The reply was: ‘Sages share the same original mind. Differences in the levels of De arise from the different ages in which they live. A truly great Sage, placed in another age, would likewise act in the way suited to it.’”

“Those who practice the highest form of ritual act. If others do not respond, they roll up their sleeves and forcibly pull them into observing ritual.”

Yan Junping said: “Empty stillness and Wuwei (non-action), which open up and bring forth the myriad things, are called ‘the person of the Dao (the Way).’ Stillness and purity that can accord with the myriad things, with nothing beyond their capacity, are called ‘the person of De (Virtue/Power).’ Caring for all things and giving widely without exhaustion are called ‘the person of benevolence.’ Distinguishing names and roles, setting facts straight, and acting appropriately are called ‘the person of righteousness.’ Yielding and stepping back, speaking modestly, and maintaining harmony through respect are called ‘the person of ritual.’ All five states may be called Dao, but they are already traces left by those who came before, not the highest state. At the truly highest state, one does not cling even to ‘the One’—how could one distinguish these five?”

Wu Yun said: “Ritual and wisdom are important barriers against disorder; Dao and De are the fundamental principles for pacifying it. Dao is therefore the root of ritual, while ritual is Dao’s secondary expression. Grasping the root is easy and secure; clinging only to the secondary expression is difficult and dangerous. If a ruler takes Dao as his mind and De as his substance, and treats benevolence and righteousness as his carriage, horses, and clothing, and ritual and wisdom as his ceremonial cap, then he can remain at ease in Wuwei, and the world will naturally be transformed through teaching. But if he exalts ritual and wisdom alone and forgets Dao and De, it is like having outward ornament without inner spirit. However diligently and watchfully he labors all day, the world will still decline.”

Benevolence is simply giving. Righteousness is giving by choosing what is appropriate and to whom, without demanding anything in return. Ritual, by contrast, concerns giving and receiving in return. If others come to you and you do not go to them, that is contrary to ritual; if you go to them and they do not respond, that too is contrary to ritual. Ritual involves reciprocal giving, but when someone offers a ritual greeting and receives no response, they may roll up their sleeves, bare their arms, and continue the quarrel in anger. “Rolling up one’s sleeves” means pushing back the sleeves to bare the arms. In the Spring and Autumn period, a single unanswered remark or an improperly performed greeting could lead to soldiers from two states dying in battle, their bodies strewn across the ground. By comparison, rolling up one’s sleeves to fight was a lesser calamity.

Thus it is said that only after Dao is lost do people speak of De; once De is lost, people may roll up their sleeves and keep fighting in anger. In the Spring and Autumn period, a single unanswered remark or an improperly performed greeting could set two states at war, leaving bodies strewn across the ground. Compared with such a calamity, a fight that begins with rolled-up sleeves is a lesser one.

Therefore, only after the Dao has been lost do people speak of De; only after De has been lost do they speak of benevolence; only after benevolence has been lost do they speak of righteousness; and only after righteousness has been lost do they speak of ritual. Ritual is a remedy for the lack of loyalty and trust, and the beginning of disorder.

The Imperial Commentary says: The Dao cannot be obtained through deliberate pursuit, so only after it is lost does De become apparent. De, too, cannot be attained through deliberate effort, so only after it is lost do people turn to benevolence. Benevolence can be practiced through one’s actions, but when practiced deliberately, it readily approaches righteousness. Thus, only after benevolence has been lost do people speak of righteousness. Righteousness can be damaged; when it is, ritual is used to adorn and repair it. Thus, only after righteousness has been lost do people speak of ritual. At the level of ritual, one has moved ever farther from the Dao and lost ever more along the way.

Things cannot all remain at their peak at the same time; such is the change of Yin-Yang. Principles wax and wane in relation to one another, and power and virtue can likewise replace each other. When inner sincerity is deep, outward observances can be simple—as with the rites between parent and child. From this we can see that the more elaborate the rituals, the more the inner truth tends to decline. When inner truth declines, falsity follows, and conflict and disorder arise in its wake. Thus it is said that ritual reveals a lack of loyalty and trust, and is the beginning of disorder.

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang said: “The loss of the Dao” means the loss of the highest De. The highest De accords with the Dao, so this is called “the loss of the Dao.” Dao, De, benevolence, and righteousness are different names that arise as the age grows more sincere or more decadent. De becomes apparent when the Dao declines; when De is lost, benevolence is preserved; when benevolence disappears, righteousness is established; and when righteousness is lost, ritual is used to make amends. These are all ways of responding to the times.

Therefore, to speak of elaborate rites and laws in an age of simplicity is either reckless or perverse; to abandon rites and laws in an age of declining customs is either foolish or deceptive. If one can recognize these changes and adjust accordingly, one should rely less on ritual and promote righteousness, rely less on righteousness and promote benevolence, rely less on benevolence and cultivate De, and finally forget the deliberate pursuit of De and return to the Dao. When people return to simplicity, they can reach the state of the highest De and Wuwei (non-action).

The Collected Subtle Interpretations says: If one neglects the Dao, De, benevolence, and righteousness, and relies solely on ritual to govern, is that not because loyalty and trust have already declined—and might it not also become the beginning of disorder? If one honors the Dao, De, benevolence, and righteousness while also making use of ritual, that is the highest way to employ ritual. How could governance fail under such an approach?

The sincere and honest do not deceive others; those who keep faith do not speak falsely. If people slight De (Virtue/Power) and humaneness and righteousness, relying only on ritual and moral instruction as means of governance, does this not show that loyalty and trust have grown weak, and that disorder begins there? If De and humaneness and righteousness are honored while ritual instruction is also put to use, then ritual instruction is being used as it should be. In this way, any place can be brought to peace.

The sincere and honest do not deceive; those who keep faith do not speak falsely. The Zhuangzi says: “In the age of utmost De, people acted honestly but did not know this was called loyalty; they behaved appropriately but did not know this was called trust. Though loyalty and trust were present, no one deliberately made a display of them.” When people began to place importance on ritual, jade and silk—gifts exchanged in ritual dealings—passed frequently between them. Giving and reciprocation followed one another; people raised their hands in greeting, bowed and kowtowed, and spoke with modesty and behaved with deference. These often became only outward signs of respect, without necessarily reflecting what was in people’s hearts. When people are simple and sincere at heart, genuine feeling and joy naturally show themselves. When trustworthiness is expressed in actions and conduct, it also accords with ritual norms. Yet once systems of ritual and music spread throughout the world, the world instead fell into disorder.

The Dao De Jing says that ritual arose only after De had declined.

One should dwell in what is substantial and not remain with what is shallow; hold fast to what is genuine and not pursue what is showy. So one must leave one side and choose the other.

Lü Jifu says: To devote oneself to humaneness and righteousness, set ritual learning aside, discard cleverness and wisdom, and direct one’s aspirations toward complete De—this is to leave one side and choose the other.

De is substantial and genuine, while ritual and wisdom are showy and shallow. Therefore, the great person leaves humaneness and righteousness, ritual learning, and cleverness and wisdom behind, and directs their aspirations toward complete De. This is to leave one side and choose the other.

De is substantial and genuine; ritual and wisdom are showy and shallow. Therefore, the great person leaves behind the showiness and shallowness of ritual and wisdom and chooses the substance and genuineness of De. Only in this way can one embody the Great Dao and preserve one’s De. This chapter speaks of the root of the Dao: humaneness, righteousness, ritual, and wisdom became manifest only after the Dao was lost. A person of highest De accords with the Dao and therefore makes no deliberate display of their De. They yield precedence to righteousness, do not give weight to ritual or wisdom, and direct their aspirations solely toward the substance and genuineness of De. Only a truly great person can make this choice.

Of Old, Attaining the One, Chapter Thirty-Nine

Of old, the things that attained “the One”—the root of the Dao—were:

Lu Dian says, “Return to the One, and you will gain; depart from the One, and you will lose.” Here, the “One” is the fundamental boundary between being and nonbeing. Liezi says that the “One” is the beginning of physical transformation. Looking back from the present to ancient times, we call them “the past”; here, “the past” refers to the time after Heaven and Earth had taken shape. The scripture says, “The Dao gives birth to the One; embodied in the myriad things, it is Jing (essence).” Since ancient times, Heaven and Earth, spirits, and human beings have all obtained the “One.” They occupy different places—above and below, darkness and light—and seem unlike one another. Yet because they have all obtained the “One,” they are fundamentally no different. Thus the passage below says that in the end, all things return to the “One.” The “One” is the root.

Heaven obtains the “One” and becomes clear.

Gu Huan says: Heaven is pure Yang Qi (vital energy). Having obtained the “One,” it is light and clear, dwelling above.

Earth obtains the “One” and becomes stable.

Gu Huan says: Earth is pure Yin substance. Having obtained the “One,” it is settled and still, resting below.

Spirits obtain the “One” and become numinous.

The Lord of the River says: Spirits obtain the “One,” and so can transform and take on forms that cannot be seen. Wang Yuanze says: Here, “spirits” refers to ghosts and gods; “numinous” describes the effects that spirits manifest and give forth.

Valleys obtain the “One” and become full.

Guo Xiang says: “Valleys” here refers to river valleys. When valleys obtain the “One,” their springs flow and nourish the land, and their streams and ravines fill with water. Wang Yuanze says: The “One” is everywhere. Though valleys are empty, they can respond because the “One” is present within them. Lu Dian says: Emptiness is the substance of a valley; fullness is its function.

The myriad things obtain the “One” and grow.

Zhang Junxiang says: Those with awareness and those without consciousness are all called the myriad things. They receive the Great Dao alike, and thus come into being.

The rulers and lords obtain the “One” and become the rightful standard for all under Heaven. The myriad things return to the “One”…

Zhuangzi said, “Understand the ‘One’—the fundamental Dao of unity—and all things become clear. Attain the One, and there will be no two different standards; hold fast to the One, and you will not depart from it; keep to the One, and you will not change. Understand the One, and there will be nothing you do not understand; fail to understand the One, and nothing can be truly understood. In ancient times, those who attained the One grasped the most subtle essence of the world, and nothing among the myriad things could rival it. Thus Heaven, above, is pure and unmixed; Earth, below, is still and unmoving. What is so deep that it has no form is the wondrous Qi (vital energy): having attained the One, it does not grow dim. What is empty yet responsive to all things is the valley: having attained the One, it does not run dry. The myriad things take shape through the transformation of vital essence, so by attaining the One they can grow. The lords and kings govern the many through the few, so by attaining the One they can become the standard for all under Heaven. Heaven and Earth and the lords and kings differ in their positions above and below, and in their brightness and obscurity; yet Heaven’s clarity, Earth’s tranquility, and the lords’ and kings’ ability to serve as a standard for all under Heaven are neither sought from outside nor imposed from without. They simply govern through the One. Thus, what they attain is the same fundamental source.”

Wang Yuanzhe said, “The One means ‘not two.’ Whether here or there, what is called the One has always been a single essence, with no other, different ‘One.’ Therefore, one can attain the One only through the One, and not through anything else. The meaning of the One is the most subtle essence of the world. Only what is subtle can be wondrous; reaching the wondrous makes it possible to grasp the full course of things. The wondrous De (Virtue/Power) is always rooted in the One. The lords and kings govern the many through the few, and so must attain the One in order to become the standard for all under Heaven. The Book of Changes says, ‘The movements of all things under Heaven take the One as their rule, and come to rest in the One.’”

If Heaven cannot remain clear, it may split apart; if Earth cannot remain still, it may be shaken and collapse; if the spirits cannot manifest their efficacy, they may fade away; if the valleys cannot receive and fill themselves, they may dry up; if the myriad things cannot grow, they may perish; if the lords and kings cannot maintain their honored rank, they may fall from it.

The Imperial Commentary says: Heaven’s function is to give life to and shelter the myriad things; Earth’s function is to shape and bear them. If Heaven split apart, it could no longer shelter them; if Earth were shaken and collapsed, it could no longer bear them. Here, “burst forth” means to disperse, or to be shaken apart. The spirits manifest by relying on the human body and mind. If they fade away, they can no longer display their efficacy. Valleys can receive the myriad things without retaining them; if they dry up, they can no longer respond to them. When the myriad things come together, Jing and Qi form their bodies. Because they receive the One—the root that unifies all things and enables them to live—they can grow. When the myriad things disperse, wandering souls undergo transformation. Because they lose the One, they move toward perishing. To perish is for the activities of life to cease. Only by holding fast to the right Way can one govern the myriad transformations and remain independent and unmoved. If one cannot embody the right Way that stands above all things, honored rank is not enough to preserve oneself. How could one avoid falling? “Fall” means that those who occupy the heights tumble down.

Wang Yuanze says: The One, as the common root of all things, is everywhere. Words cannot exhaust the explanation of its principle. Let us use the human body to illustrate it: when a person is first born, Jing and Qi are the root. When Jing and Qi gather, Shen takes form, and the person’s body is thereby made complete. Once Jing and Qi are exhausted, the body dies and Shen disperses.

The principle is the same whether one speaks of De or of physical form.

Thus, honor takes lowliness as its root, and high rank takes a lower position as its foundation.

The Imperial Commentary says: Lowliness is what allows honor to stand firm; a lower position is the starting point from which high rank is established. Ordinary people look only at the surface of things, while sages investigate their roots. Ordinary people see only results once they have taken shape, while sages perceive them in their subtle beginnings. Therefore, sages are always able to hold fast to the One.

Sun Deng says: A nine-tiered terrace is built by piling up layer upon layer of earth; a peak a hundred ren high begins with a single basket of soil. This illustrates the principle of honored rank and high position: what is lowly is their foundation.

Wang Yuanzé says: Water belongs to the number one among the Five Phases. It always follows the terrain downhill and does not compete with the myriad things for a higher place. This is the ordinary course of Yin-Yang. Those who understand this principle do not forget their roots, even when they hold high office. Thus the positions they occupy remain secure. It is like the body nourishing Shen (spirit) and preserving Jing and Qi (essence and vital energy), so that Shen and Qi can endure.

So when lords and kings call themselves “orphan,” “widower,” or “unworthy,” are they not taking what is lowly as their root?

The Imperial Commentary says: “Orphan,” “widower,” and “unworthy” are all terms for a lowly status. Lords and kings use them to refer to themselves because they understand their roots. Perhaps this is why they are honored without being overthrown.

Gu Huan says: “Orphan” refers to someone without a father; “widower” to someone who has lost a spouse; and “unworthy” means that one is not good. When lords and kings call themselves these things, they show that they are not the masters of the myriad things and cannot rule over everyone by themselves. People regard all three terms as lowly, yet lords and kings use them for themselves. Is this not taking lowliness as one’s root? The phrase “is it not?” has the force of a detailed inquiry. It means that when lords and kings call themselves “orphan,” “widower,” or “unworthy,” they show that they regard lowliness as their root.

Wang Yuanzé says: Among numbers, “one” is the least, yet it is the root of the myriad things. Thus only those who understand that the root lies in what is lowly understand true honor.

Therefore, those who deliberately pursue fame end up losing it.

The Imperial Commentary says: Those who consider themselves noble and place themselves above others, who regard themselves as honored and look down on others, do not understand how to remain yielding. Those who insist on displaying themselves do not understand how to remain hidden. In seeking only the world’s praise, they attract excessive acclaim, while baseless slander follows in its wake. In the end, they lose their reputation.

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang says: The character “number” is read with the rising tone, and “praise” is pronounced like “carriage.” His explanation is that those who deliberately seek praise do not receive genuine praise. The wheels and axle are the root of a carriage; likewise, those who single-mindedly pursue honor end up losing it, and ultimately have no way to gain a good name.

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang said: “‘Shu’ is pronounced with the rising tone, and ‘yu’ means carriage. To ‘count the carriage’ is to count its parts one by one until the carriage as a whole disappears from view. The wheels and axle are the carriage’s foundations. If you count up the things that bring wealth and prominence, you will forget that their foundation lies in lowliness. Since the axle is the carriage’s foundation, it should be preserved to keep the carriage steady. Since low status is the foundation of honor, one should hold fast to lowliness in order to secure one’s honor. This passage cautions rulers to take lowliness as their foundation, and so it introduces this discussion of the carriage.”

Wang Yuanzhe said: “‘Shu’ is pronounced with the entering tone, and ‘yu’ is pronounced like ‘praise.’ Those who understand how to hold fast to the Dao take lowliness as their foundation, while harboring the highest nobility within. The world cannot see through this: what is honored does not necessarily make a person truly noble, and what is lowly does not necessarily make a person truly base. If one pursues achievements and fame only for oneself, can that really count as praise?”

One should not wish to shine brilliantly like fine jade, nor to seem coarse and ordinary like a stone.

The Imperial Commentary says: “Jade is regarded as noble and stone as lowly; this distinction is fixed and unchanging. The sage follows the times, enabling all things to find what suits them, without anything obstructing the heart. Though the world outside undergoes myriad changes, the sage’s heart remains undivided. This is what it means truly to attain the Dao. Thus, the sage cannot be judged by status alone. Mencius said that he disliked clinging to one side because attachment to one side leads one to neglect many others. Not shining like jade or seeming as ordinary as stone is difficult even for a sage who does not understand how to respond to change. This is called ‘higher De,’ the highest virtue.”

The Lord of the River explains: “‘Lulu’ describes what is scarce, and ‘luoluo’ what is abundant. Jade is scarce, so it is regarded as precious; stones are abundant, so they are regarded as ordinary. The scripture says one should not wish to be prized like jade or despised like stone, but should remain between the two.”

Wang Yuanze said: “Jade is hard in substance, fixed and unchanging; it cannot bend or transform. This is not what is truly meant by ‘the One.’ All things change without end yet never depart from the One: this is the true One. The crystalline patterns of jade seem precious and therefore valued, yet jade cannot change from precious to base. Rough, ordinary stone, though base, cannot change from base to precious. Laozi explained the principle of the One because he feared that those who did not understand would take it to be hard and unchanging like jade, thereby losing its original meaning.

“Those who truly understand the One can occupy both high and low positions. Their De is like water: it changes with the form of things, adapting to what is square or round, curved or straight. It responds to all things without limit, yet never departs from the One. They therefore cannot be measured by distinctions of high and low, for the One itself has no such distinctions. The meaning of this chapter is profound and difficult to express fully. Here I have only outlined its main points: the Dao gives rise to the One, and the One signifies the completeness of De. To perceive all things and draw near to the Great Dao is to attain this state.

“This chapter takes the One as its central theme. The One is the most subtle root of all under Heaven. Heaven and Earth, spirits, all things, distinctions of high and low, animals and plants—all come into being by obtaining the One. The Most High Lord Lao feared that people would cling to the One without understanding change, so he concluded with ‘desire nothing.’ He used jade to illustrate that if one is hard and unchanging like jade, one loses the principle of the One.

“I believe the Dao of the Most High is founded on refining Jing, while preserving Shen is its subtle art. If the foundation is unstable, the Dao cannot arise. Thus the One serves as the foundation, just as one refines Jing and then preserves Shen. The chapter concludes with jade because the author feared people would cling only to refining Jing and fail to nourish Shen. Even a life as long as a tortoise’s or crane’s would ultimately offer no hope of becoming an immortal. Only by cultivating both Jing and Shen can one unite with the Dao and realize the truth.”

End of Volume Six of Collected Selections from the True Scripture of the Dao and Its Virtue

Collected Selections from the True Scripture of the Dao and Its Virtue, Volume Seven

Compiled by Li Lin, a lay Buddhist of Raoyang in the Song dynasty

Chapter Forty: Reversal Is the Movement of the Dao

Reversal is the way the Dao moves.

Wang Yuanze says: Returning to the root brings one to stillness. Only in stillness can action arise. Just as spring and summer emerge after autumn and winter have passed.

Su Ziyou says: “Return” means to go back. Returning to the Dao is how the Dao operates.

“Return” means to return to one’s original nature; when one does, the mind becomes still. Though silent and without action, one can respond to what one encounters and understand the principles of all things. This is the very source from which action arises.

Look up and observe the heavens: the four seasons turn without pause. Winter gathers and stores; when spring arrives, all things flourish and grow abundant. Look down and observe the earth: among the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), water always flows back and gathers, preserving its wholeness and unity, while moving in response to the right moment. The way Heaven and Earth operate is to move by returning, and so they endure. Once people are confined by their physical form, they let body and nature chase after one another, sink into the midst of all things, and never return to the root throughout their lives. How sad.

“Weakness” is how the Dao works.

Wang Anshi says: The Dao works through weakness because it is empty, still, and formless. Observe the workings of Heaven, and you can see how all things return. Yet I remain attached to external things. How sad.

“Weakness” is how the Dao works.

King Shu said: The Dao’s power is expressed through weakness because it is empty and formless. Consider the wind in the sky. When it blows eastward, I feel as though I could overcome it; when it blows westward, I feel the same. The wind moves through the vast open sky and seems very weak. Yet nothing escapes its gusts, and no form remains untouched by its passing. This shows that the wind exerts its power precisely through weakness.

Now consider water on the earth. It flows east where the land leads east, and west where the land leads west. Water depends on deep pools and open spaces, and it too seems weak. Yet it willingly dwells in low places that others dislike, and it can strike against hard things. No force surpasses it. This shows that water, too, exerts its power through weakness.

King Shu also said: The Dao’s movement is a return to the source. Returning to the source is not the same as movement itself, but there is a kind of movement that consists precisely in returning to the source. Weakness is not strength itself, but there is a kind of strength that arises precisely from weakness. The word “return” tells us that going back to the source is stillness, not movement in the ordinary sense. The word “weakness” tells us that the power of weakness can be transformed into strength. All things under Heaven arise from “being,” and “being” arises from “nonbeing”; the principle is the same.

Weakness overcomes strength: this is the Dao’s subtle working. Water is utterly weak, yet it can strike against hard things.

All things under Heaven arise from “being,” and “being” arises from “nonbeing.”

The Old Man by the River said: All things arise from Heaven and Earth. Heaven and Earth have form and position, so we say that all things arise from “being.” Heaven and Earth, along with the spirits, arise from the Dao. The Dao has no form, so we say that “being” arises from “nonbeing.”

Lü Jifu said: Only “action” can bring forth all things under Heaven; and “ability” and “nonbeing” can bring forth the “being” of the world. From this we can see that the Dao’s movement lies in returning to the source, and its power lies in weakness. To return to the source and remain weak, there is no other method: one need only cultivate with single-minded focus and bring oneself to the utmost emptiness.

The meaning of this chapter is: return to the root and keep still; when acting, you will not lose yourself.

This is what Zhuangzi meant when he said, “In stillness, one can set things in motion; once in motion, things can be accomplished.” When one puts the Dao (the Way) into practice, everything goes smoothly. One can prevail without contending with others; this is precisely what the Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue) means by saying, “The soft and weak overcome the hard and strong.” Thus, to return to softness and weakness, there is no other method: simply devote yourself wholeheartedly to diligent practice until your mind reaches emptiness.

Chapter Forty-One: The Finest Adepts Hear of the Dao

Those of the highest capacity, when they hear of the Dao, diligently cultivate themselves in accordance with it.

The Imperial Commentary says: “Adept” refers to one who has set their aspirations on pursuing the Dao. After hearing of the Dao, the finest adepts continue to build upon their efforts and practice over a long period, persevering with utmost sincerity.

Li Rong says: Their faith in the Dao is firm, and they resolve to strive to put it into practice. Neither the changing seasons of cold and heat alter their purpose, nor the erosion of metal and stone shakes their integrity. They remain steadfast throughout, which is why the text says they “diligently practice it.”

“Finest” means supreme, and “adept” refers to one who takes the Dao as their life’s pursuit. The finest adepts grasp the Dao. After hearing its mysterious teachings, their faith grows firmer and they resolve to practice diligently. Their actions accord with the true Dao: whether coming or going, moving or resting, they follow their true nature and do not depart from the root. They continually deepen their understanding of the ultimate reality, the true source, and never slacken in cultivating the mind. That is why they are said to practice diligently.

Someone asked, “The Dao cannot be heard; if one says one has heard it, then it is not the true Dao. How, then, can the finest adepts hear the Dao?” The reply was, “The ears hear words about the Dao, and the heart puts the Dao into practice: that is what it truly means to hear.” Confucius also said, “If I understand the Dao in the morning, I can die content in the evening.”

Those of middling capacity, when they hear of the Dao, seem to remember it and yet seem to forget it.

Prince Shu says: Those of middling capacity know that the Dao is beautiful, but do not understand how to embody it. Though they recognize its worth, they have not grasped it deeply. It is like a vast sound that worldly ears cannot take in.

Li Rong says: Undyed white silk has no fixed color of its own, but changes according to the colors—such as blue-green or yellow—with which it is dyed. People of middling capacity have unsettled minds and often change their views according to their preferences. When they hear that the true Dao can cultivate the body and mind and bring stability to the state, they want to hold fast to the Dao and forget worldly concerns. But when they see that wealth and beauty can bring pleasure and satisfy their emotions, they become attached to the world and forget the Dao.

People of middling capacity may advance or fall back, so they are often troubled by doubt. Once doubt arises, their resolve becomes scattered. Thus, when they hear that the Dao can cultivate the body and preserve life, allowing one to endure for a long time, and can also govern the state and bring peace, they gladly accept it. But later, when they see wealth, beauty, and honor, or become caught up again in desire, they forget the Dao and cannot firmly put it into practice. Their thoughts turn toward the Dao for a while, then retreat again toward worldly life. It is like Zixia, a disciple of Confucius, who felt delighted when he went out and saw the bustle and splendor of the world, then felt glad again when he returned and heard Confucius’s teachings.

People of low capacity laugh when they hear of the Dao.

Wang Yuanze says: The Dao is vast and profound. It does not seem like the sort of thing the world considers “useful,” so people with shallow understanding cannot comprehend it and laugh. As a later passage says: “Could worldly people possibly see it?”

People of low capacity laugh when they hear of the Dao.

Wang Yuanze says: The Dao is vast and profound. It does not seem like the sort of thing the world considers “useful,” so people with shallow understanding cannot comprehend it and laugh. As a later passage says: “Could worldly people possibly see it?”

Zhi Cong says: People of low capacity hear of the subtle Dao and understand that it has no form or name, neither comes nor goes, and is neither born nor destroyed. Yet they refuse to believe in it or follow it, and instead turn against it. So they clap their hands and laugh, thinking it absurd and unreal.

People of low capacity are naturally dull, indulge their desires, and are greedy for many things. Their wisdom is insufficient to understand the principles of the Dao, and their knowledge insufficient to recognize the Great Dao. Their eyes hunger for colors, their ears for sounds, their mouths seek delicious flavors, and their minds are always striving to be satisfied; when they cannot get what they want, they become anxious and fearful. The Dao, however, offers no sounds, colors, or flavors to pursue, and is far removed from what the ears, eyes, nose, and mouth delight in. When they hear of the Dao of quietude and simplicity, stillness and emptiness, and Wuwei (non-action), they laugh, thinking it wrong.

If people did not laugh at it, it would not be worthy of being called the Dao.

Yang Hu says: The dull and ignorant people of low capacity believe that sensual pleasure and delicious food are the things worth pursuing… When they hear of the Dao of quietude and simplicity, stillness and emptiness, and Wuwei (non-action), they laugh and reject it.

The true Dao is not easily understood. If people did not mock it, it would not be worthy of being called the profound and great Dao.

Yang Hu said: Foolish and shallow people prize splendid appearances and slight what is real within. The great Dao is deep, quiet, and far-reaching. If people of limited understanding did not mock it, its depth would not be revealed.

Su Ziyou said: The Dao has no form, so it cannot be seen; it has no sound, so it cannot be heard. Unless one first recognizes the illusory nature of the appearances of all things, the mind cannot become empty, clear, and unobstructed. One therefore cannot truly see the great Dao, and is bound to disbelieve in it. When people of the lowest level hear of the Dao, they find it absurd and remote, and mock it. Those of the middle level hear of the Dao and follow its rises and falls, yet remain doubtful. Only those who truly understand the great Dao act in accordance with it, keep it firmly in mind, and never grow lax. Confucius said, “When I explain a principle to someone, and he never grows lax, perhaps only Yan Hui can do this.” Such a person is what we call one of the highest level.

The great Dao exists alongside the ordinary principles of the world, yet runs counter to worldly ideas. The Dao De Jing says, “Those who understand me are few; this is why I am precious.”

The ancients left these words as a teaching:

Zuanwei said: “Establish” means to set something up. Here it means preparing to put forward teachings about following the Dao, referring to the few sayings that follow.

Prince Shuo said: Confucius once said that he followed the ancients rather than creating new teachings, and compared himself to Lao Peng. When Laozi says, “The ancients established these teachings,” he means that the ancients spoke the three sayings that follow, and that Laozi is simply repeating them.

The bright Dao seems dim.

The Imperial Commentary says: It is like the sun’s radiance shining over the earth: in itself, it is bright. But the Dao holds profound wisdom without displaying it; it bears light without flaunting it, and so seems dim.

Wang Yuanzhe said: What is supremely bright appears instead as darkness.

Zhi Cong said: Wisdom within is brightness; not flaunting one’s radiance outwardly is dimness.

The advancing Dao seems to retreat.

Li Rong said: Hearing of the Dao and diligently putting it into practice is in truth to advance, moving toward great fulfillment. Yet the person cultivating the Dao appears to be lacking something, as if retreating.

Lü Jifu said: Cultivating the Dao requires continual reduction: reduce, and reduce again, until one reaches Wuwei (non-action). This is called “advancing on the Dao as though retreating.”

The level Dao seems uneven.

Li Rong said: Broad and level, with no distinctions of high and low, is what “level Dao” means. It harmonizes with brightness and blends into the common world, yet outwardly appears flawed; this is what “seems uneven” means.

“The level road seems bumpy.” This means that a level road can look as though it were knotted, uneven thread. Emperor Ming of the Tang explained that “level” means flat, while “knotted” refers to thread that is uneven or has flaws and knots. A discerning person is inwardly calm and peaceful, free of worldly desires, and open in dealing with others; outwardly, however, they may seem like thread with flaws and knots. Li Rong held that the Dao is inherently even and consistent, yet it can blend its light with the dust—restraining its sharpness to live among ordinary people—and so appear uneven. Du Guangting said that those who cultivate the Dao are inwardly steady and at peace, while outwardly adapting to the ways of the world. Whether they encounter hardship or joy, they respond as circumstances require. The Dao is unified in itself, while the myriad things each differ. Thus, one who embodies the Dao remains inwardly centered on unity and responds flexibly to the variety of things outwardly.

“Highest Virtue is like a valley.” This means that the highest Virtue is empty and spacious like a valley. The Imperial Commentary says that a valley is empty, and so can contain all things; having received them, it does not become congested, and its responses to all things never run out. Lu Dian held that the highest Virtue can meet what others seek and respond with an open mind to what comes from outside, and so is like a valley.

“Great purity seems sullied.” This means that the purest and whitest Virtue can appear as though it has suffered disgrace. Li Rong said that it is inwardly pure and unstained, yet blends with what is turbid, so that outwardly it seems defiled. Lu Dian explained this by invoking the idea: “Know the white, keep to the black; know honor, keep to disgrace.” One knows what is bright and pure yet remains in the shade; one knows what is honorable yet willingly occupies a lowly place. This is why it is called “Great purity seems sullied.” A person of great purity is inwardly calm and clear, simple and unadorned, and cleanses away distracting thoughts. Yet they restrain their radiance, conceal their tracks, and mingle with ordinary people, taking a place that others despise. Thus, they seem to have suffered disgrace.

“Abundant Virtue seems deficient.” This means that the deeper and more expansive one’s Virtue, the more one may appear outwardly to lack something. Sun Deng said that people of deep and abundant Virtue have broad understanding and far-reaching insight. They therefore do not cling to minor details and may seem to lack intelligence. Just as a skilled merchant keeps precious treasures hidden, appearing to have nothing, a gentleman whose Virtue is full and flourishing often looks simple and foolish.

Zhicong says: A person of superior De (Virtue/Power) extends merit and virtue throughout the ten directions, adorns the myriad things, and brings forth an inexhaustible transformation through De. Hence it is called “broad.” Though this person has De, they always seem to have none. Because they do not consider themselves to possess De, their De appears insufficient.

Establishing De Seems Like Stealing

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang says: “Establish” means to set up; “steal” means to take secretly. This passage says that establishing hidden virtue and cultivating concealed deeds is like stealing: one is always afraid of being noticed. Hence the phrase “like stealing.”

Che Huibi says: The sage establishes every kind of virtue and saves living beings, exercising wondrous power and bringing about transformation through De in secret, without letting people notice. Hence the phrase “like stealing.”

Both interpretations take “stealing” in the sense of theft.

Su Ziyou says: One follows the inherent state of things and does not deliberately set out to establish anything. On the surface, one seems idle and lax, yet in reality one accomplishes something.

Wang Yuanze says: “Stealing” means acting carelessly or being lax. How could hastily seeking quick results and deliberately striving to make a name for oneself count as De? Only those who follow the times and accord with the principles of things, seeming idle on the surface, can achieve something truly great. Zhuangzi says, “Only when there is no other choice does one act.”

Both of these interpretations take “stealing” to mean idleness or laxity.

True Substance Seems to Change

Wang Yuanze says: One preserves one’s nature and nourishes one’s spirit, living among ordinary people and adapting to worldly affairs as they change, while the Dao within remains pure and true. Thus others cannot see one’s true nature. The Old Man of Hanyin made preserving the true his sole concern and deliberately set himself apart from ordinary society, provoking the astonishment of people like Zigong. Confucius, however, thought that in doing so he was deliberately embellishing himself and spoiling the state of uncarved naturalness. Could this really be called “true substance”?

Su Ziyou says: One preserves one’s nature and nourishes one’s spirit, responding as things change without losing one’s original truth; outwardly, one appears to have changed.

“Substance” means one’s nature, “true” means simple and undivided, and “change” means a change in appearance. The passage says that a virtuous cultivator is simple by nature and free of false embellishment, yet outwardly seems to change with external things, able to move along with the myriad things while keeping their radiance contained.

“Greatest squareness seems to change” likewise means that the truly great and upright Dao appears outwardly to have changed.

“Essence” refers to one’s original nature; “true” means pure and undivided; “change” means a change in color. The passage says that those who cultivate the Dao are pure and unadorned in their original nature, without false embellishment. Even when they appear to change outwardly, they can accord with all things and live in harmony with the world, without showing their edge.

The greatest square has no corners: The greatest squareness is a squareness without corners.

The Imperial Commentary says: “The greatest square” is a squareness without form or bounds. Though square, it does not cut into anything, and so has no sharp edges.

Li Rong says that all things in Heaven and Earth that have form also have shape, and therefore have corners. The utmost Dao has no body, and so has no corners.

Lü Jifu says that the greatest square has no division between north and south; it opens in every direction and cannot be measured. It has no distinction between east and west; it arises from the obscure and distant, and returns to boundless openness. This is what “the greatest square has no corners” means.

Wang Yuanze says that “the greatest square” is the substance of the Dao. If it had four corners, its form would be confined by what the eye sees, making it too narrow.

The greatest vessel is completed late: A truly great vessel often takes a long time to form.

The Imperial Commentary says that “the greatest vessel” is a capacity that cannot be confined by ordinary vessels. It does not deliberately add to life or force growth, and so it is completed late.

Tao Hongjing says that accumulating De and cultivating the Great Dao is called “the greatest vessel.” This cannot be accomplished in a single day, hence “completed late.”

Lu Dian says that in cultivating oneself, one may proceed slowly but never slacken; hence the saying “the greatest vessel is completed late.”

“The greatest vessel” also refers to the vessel of the Dharma Body—the body and mind that bear the realization of cultivation. The great vessel of the Dharma Body can be attained only through accumulated merit; it cannot be completed overnight, hence “completed late.” The Zhuangzi says, “A fine achievement requires long accumulation.”

The greatest sound is rarely heard: The greatest sound is, paradoxically, difficult to hear.

The Imperial Commentary says that its arising follows no fixed pattern, yet it responds to whatever it encounters; hence it is called “rarely heard.”

Wang Bi says that a sound one cannot hear is called “rare,” meaning a sound beyond hearing. Once there is a particular sound, distinctions arise; and once distinctions arise, sounds fall into different pitches such as gong and shang. Divided into distinct tones, sound can no longer encompass all sounds. Therefore, sounds that have an audible form are not the greatest sounds.

Zhizong says, “‘Rarefied sound’ is like having no sound. The sage speaks of the Great Dao with a single voice, yet his teaching reaches throughout the ten directions of the world, awakening the unenlightened and guiding the people. Though his teaching fills the ten directions, the Dao he speaks of remains utterly silent. Teaching is like not teaching; speaking is like not speaking. This is what is meant by ‘rarefied sound.’”

The commentary says, “The Dao can resonate with the many sounds; this is called ‘great sound.’ Yet it is heard as soundless; this is called ‘rarefied sound.’”

The Great Image—the form in which the Great Dao appears—has no form.

Zhong Hui says, “There is nothing that cannot respond to it, and so it is called the Great Image. Since it has no fixed form, how could it have any particular appearance?”

The “Great Image” is the image of what has no image. Since it has no fixed image, how could it have a shape?

The Dao is hidden and nameless.

The Zuanwei says, “The Dao originally has no name; people call it ‘Dao’ only as a makeshift designation. Now the Dao is hidden and does not appear, so how could it have a name? This is precisely what is meant by ‘erasing traces and concealing beginnings’: leaving behind neither traces nor clues.”

Lü Jifu says, “All of this speaks of the Dao. It is called ‘bright,’ yet seems dim; it is called ‘level,’ yet seems uneven; it is called ‘advancing,’ yet seems to retreat. It is called ‘great sound,’ yet seems soundless; it is called ‘Great Image,’ yet has no form. Names and reality often seem opposed because the Dao is hidden and nameless, while people use names to speak of it. Thus name and reality always seem at odds.”

Only the Dao is good at granting life to the myriad things and bringing them to completion.

Gu Huan says, “To give first and receive something later is called ‘lending’; for the myriad things to be brought to completion is called ‘completion.’ Once the myriad things are complete, they return to the Dao. In this sense, the Dao has also received them back.”

Zhizong says, “The lives of ordinary people today are all bestowed by the Dao. The Dao lends you life, and you should understand that life must eventually return to the Dao. Why cling only to life itself instead of returning to its source?”

Prince Shun says, “‘Good at lending’ means that all things depend on the Dao for their life and nourishment, yet this does not deplete the Dao. In the end, all things return to the source from which they arose; hence the words ‘and bringing them to completion.’”

This chapter speaks of the Dao as profound, subtle, and hidden, difficult to see directly. From “Illuminating the Dao” to “the Great Image,” each passage speaks of the Dao. Its wonders cannot be fathomed by the intellect or sought through visible forms, which is why it is called hidden and hard to perceive. The substance of the Dao is concealed in the nameless and formless, yet its workings continually give to and nourish the myriad things.

Those who understand the Dao practice it diligently. Those who do not understand it, when they hear of it, often do no more than laugh. As the Jing says, how could ordinary people recognize such profound principles?

Chapter Forty-Two: The Dao Gives Birth

The Dao gives birth to “One”; One gives birth to “Two”; Two gives birth to “Three”; Three gives birth to the myriad things.

Lu Dian explains: “One” is Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), the root from which Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things have not yet divided. “Two” is Yin-Yang. “Three” is the harmonious Qi formed through the union of Yin and Yang. Yin and Yang coexist, with harmonious Qi moving between them; from this, the myriad things come into being.

Li Rong explains: “One” divides into “Two” as clear Qi separates from turbid Qi and Yin and Yang emerge. “Two” gives birth to “Three” as the two Qi of Yin and Yang move and form the Three Powers: Heaven, Earth, and humanity. Heaven covers from above, Earth supports from below, and humanity dwells between them, governing the myriad things. Thus, the myriad things are able to grow.

Gushenzi explains: The Great Dao transforms naturally, bringing forth wondrous workings. These wondrous workings set in motion and form harmonious Qi. Harmonious Qi spreads and gathers into Qi; once Qi has gathered, it takes on concrete form. This is the meaning of “The Dao gives birth to One; One gives birth to Two; Two gives birth to Three; Three gives birth to the myriad things.” “One” is the beginning of the transformation of forms. Clear, light Qi rises to become Heaven; turbid, heavy Qi sinks to become Earth; and harmonious Qi becomes humanity. Heaven and Earth contain Jing (essence), and through it the myriad things are transformed, nurtured, and brought forth.

The myriad things turn their backs on Yin and face Yang.

Heshang Gong explains: Nothing among the myriad things fails to turn away from darkness and face the sunlight. In other words, all things follow Yang Qi and turn toward the sun.

Yin and Yang energies blend and harmonize with each other; only then can the myriad things come into being.

Lu Dian says: “Daoists call this harmonizing energy ‘the Qi of the center’; physicians call it ‘stomach Qi.’ Only where Yin and Yang are both present can stomach Qi arise.”

“To bear” means to turn one’s back; “to embrace” means to face toward; “to be centered” means to remain in the middle. What is dark and difficult to discern belongs to Yin; what is bright and visible belongs to Yang. Among living things, none fail to turn their backs on darkness and face toward the light. Yet the myriad things cannot grow through Yang energy alone, nor can they come to fruition through Yin energy alone. They require the balanced energy between Yin and Yang in order to come into being. The Zhuangzi says: “The Qi of supreme Yang is bright and manifest; the Qi of supreme Yin is still and deep. Still and deep, Yin Qi emerges from Heaven; bright and manifest, Yang Qi rises from Earth. The two energies of Yin and Yang move in alternation, forming harmonious Qi, from which the myriad things are born.”

The forms of address people dislike are only “orphan,” “widower,” and “one who lacks grain,” yet kings and dukes use these terms of themselves.

The Commentary on Subtleties says: “‘Orphan,’ ‘widower,’ and ‘one who lacks grain’ are all humble, yielding forms of address, which people in the world often disdain. Only great people and gentlemen use them of themselves; kings and dukes do so as well. It is precisely for this reason that they appear noble. They are following the way of Yin-Yang harmony, setting aside a will to assert their own strength and thereby increasing their De.”

“Orphan,” “widower,” and “one who lacks grain” are among the foremost of inauspicious names. Though kings and dukes occupy exalted positions, they call themselves by terms people dislike in order to dwell in humility and emulate weakness, bringing themselves into accord with the harmony of Yin and Yang. Thus the following passage says:

At times, a thing is diminished and thereby gains; at times, it is increased and thereby loses.

Li Rong says: “Though people of the Dao are wealthy and honored, they call themselves ‘orphan’ and ‘widower.’ On the surface, they diminish themselves, yet through humility they continue to grow. This is true gain. Those without De occupy high positions and know only how to elevate themselves. Though they seem to benefit, they in fact suffer loss. When ability is limited but status is too high, downfall is bound to follow.”

The preceding passage says that “therefore” links what follows to the argument above. The lords and high officials call themselves “orphan” or “widow” to humble themselves. As a result, the people are glad to recommend, honor, and serve them, which in turn brings them greater benefit. Conversely, if the lords and high officials exalt and indulge themselves too much, occupying high positions with arrogance and conceit, their subordinates will become estranged and divided. The benefits they once enjoyed will then turn into losses. The Book of Changes says, “Pride brings loss; humility brings gain.” This is the very principle at work.

King Shu says: The Way of Heaven diminishes what is full and adds to what is humble. Because humility brings benefit, willingly diminishing oneself is, paradoxically, a way to gain. And because the full is diminished by the Way of Heaven, what seems like an increase may in fact become a loss. Thus, when lords and high officials call themselves humble, they are inviting benefit and securing their honored position.

What others use to teach people, I teach them by the same principle.

The Lord of the River says: Most people teach others to cast off weakness and become strong, to cast off softness and become firm. I teach the opposite: abandon strength and return to weakness; abandon firmness and return to softness.

I use the principle of softness to teach people the principles they use to teach others.

Those who act violently and rely on force often meet an untimely end.

The Lord of the River says: “Violent and forceful” refers to people who do not believe in the mysterious Dao, turn away from De, and do not follow the teachings of the scriptures, relying instead on power and brute force. “Do not meet their natural end” means that they are abandoned by the Way of Heaven, or die by the sword or through punishment, without living out their natural lifespan.

Yan Xian says: The Qin dynasty fell because it ruled with tyranny and force, while the Han dynasty prospered through harmony and accommodation. The violent and forceful go against the Dao; those who flaunt their strength and delight in war lose their spirit and vitality. Once the very foundation on which their lives depend has declined, how can they endure? “Do not meet their natural end” means that they are abandoned by the Way of Heaven and die by the sword or under the law, without living out their natural lifespan.

The Explanation of the Character Zi says: The two ends of a roof beam support the weight of a house. Among the hard and strong things in the world, nothing is stronger than a roof beam. To be “strong as a beam” is to be hard and unyielding like one. When people insist on showing off their strength, they often meet their death. Zilu loved displays of valor and did not meet a good end; Yi was skilled at archery, and Jiedang was skilled at boating, yet neither met a good end. They all went against the principle of softness and weakness.

I will take this as the foundation of my teaching.

Li Rong says: Disobeying the commands of ruler and father, failing to follow the teachings of the sages, craving glory and insisting on victory, exalting oneself and placing oneself above others—these are forms of domineering strength. To violate laws and prohibitions, fail to live out one’s natural span, and die prematurely is to meet a bad end. All things accord with the Dao, and sages always shape their teachings to fit the circumstances. Ordinary people often lose the teaching because they go against what is right. So the sages speak to explain the principle: through the outward forms of benevolence and righteousness, they reveal the true substance of De; in response to the habit of domineering strength, they explain how to live by softness and weakness.

This chapter says that the Dao gives rise to One Qi; One Qi gives rise to Yin-Yang; Yin-Yang join and produce harmonizing Qi; and all things take shape in harmony when they receive this Qi. Harmonizing Qi embodies softness and weakness. Rulers and nobles take softness as their guide and call themselves “orphaned” and “solitary.” By lowering themselves, they end up gaining something. Ordinary people delight in showing off their strength but fail to meet a good end: they seek gain on the surface, yet bring harm upon themselves. The great sage discerned this principle and took it as the foundation of his teaching. Indeed, it is so.

The softest thing in the world can command the hardest thing in the world.

Li Rong says: Among things with form, the softest is water; among things without form, the softest is the Dao. Though water is soft, it can wear away metal and pierce stone, overcoming what is hard and strong. Though the Dao is formless and yielding, it can help people let go of their attachments to external things and to themselves, and break through stubbornness. If people take water as their mirror and experience the state of the Dao, they can see through the distinctions between self and others, pass through obstacle after obstacle, and reach a subtle, mysterious, and unobstructed state. This is what it means to command the hardest thing.

Water is the softest; metal and stone are the hardest. Water can pierce barriers and cross hills, bringing things into a subtle, mysterious, and unobstructed state. This is what it means to command the hardest thing.

The softest thing is water; the hardest things are metal and stone. Water can penetrate hard things and overcome what is forceful. There is almost nowhere it cannot reach. Water is supremely yielding, and so it comes close to the Dao. What is more, the Dao is inherently without form or image. The supremely yielding Dao encompasses Heaven and Earth and flows through the myriad things. This is precisely why the soft can overcome the strong. “Racing through” means flowing through and passing along, while allowing things to move naturally. The Dao De Jing says: “Nothing in the world is softer and weaker than water, yet nothing surpasses it in overcoming the hard and strong.”

The formless and imageless Dao can enter places with no gaps.

The Riverbank Master says: “‘Nonbeing’ refers to the Dao. The Dao has no physical form, and so it can enter and leave any place without obstruction. It reaches the spirits and aids all living beings.”

Yan Zun says: “Where sharp things with physical form cannot enter, the formless spirit can dwell. It enters and leaves without gaps or openings, and in the span of a bow or a nod can travel thousands of miles.”

“Nonbeing” also refers to spirit. The activity of spirit allows it to enter and leave freely without leaving a trace, to penetrate metal and stone, and to enter places with no gaps. Spirit dwells in the heart, where it is concealed. Make the heart empty and still, and spirit can be nurtured there; nurture spirit, and you can seek the utmost Dao. When you follow the situation and act with flexibility, no trace of spirit can be discerned. Whether bending or yielding, in any direction, above or below, it can come and go without end wherever it finds a dwelling. It flows throughout the Great Void—the boundless expanse—reaching up to the heavens and down across the earth, extending in every direction, free to move wherever it goes.

Therefore, I know that Wuwei (non-action) is beneficial.

The Imperial Commentary says: “The soft overcoming the hard, nonbeing encompassing being: this is where the Dao’s wondrous function lies. Let go of affairs, and the body will not grow weary; forget your attachment to life, and Jing and Qi will not be depleted. This is why non-action is beneficial.”

Wang Bi says: “The soft, the weak, the empty, and the nonexistent can reach everywhere. Softness at its utmost cannot be broken, and emptiness cannot be exhausted. From this we can know that the Dao of non-action is beneficial.”

Li Rong says: “The Dao has no physical form, yet it enables the myriad things to grow. The sage does not act willfully, yet people are transformed through teaching. These are the benefits of non-action.”

Softness is the root of the Dao, and nonbeing is its function. Their wondrous workings cannot be exhausted. From this we can know that the Dao of non-action is indeed beneficial.

Li Rong says: “The Dao has no fixed form, yet through it all things are able to grow. The sage does not act arbitrarily, and so the people are transformed. This is the benefit brought by Wuwei (non-action).

“Softness and weakness are the foundation of the Dao; emptiness and nothingness are its function. What is most soft and weak, most empty and formless, is the Dao. The Dao does not act arbitrarily, and all things therefore change and grow of themselves. From this we can see that the Way of Wuwei truly brings benefit.

“To teach without words and bring benefit without acting arbitrarily—few in the world can do this.”

The Imperial Commentary says: “Teaching without words means transforming through subtle, mysterious means. The benefit of Wuwei means not harming the original nature of the myriad things. The sage therefore holds fast to simplicity, and the people of the world return to him. All things transform and come into being naturally through Wuwei, so there are few who can accomplish this.”

Gu Huan says: “To follow the Dao, letting customs change of themselves without using words, is called ‘teaching without words.’ To follow the Dao, refraining from arbitrary action so that people and all things change of themselves, is called ‘the benefit of Wuwei.’”

This chapter discusses following the Dao in its softness, weakness, emptiness, and nothingness: teaching without words and transforming the people through Wuwei. Are there not very few in the world who can do this?

Chapter Forty-Four: Name and Self

Which is dearer, reputation or life? Which is more precious, life or wealth?

The Imperial Commentary says: “If one arm mattered more than all under Heaven, then which would be more worth cherishing, reputation or life? Can a living person’s life really be worth no more than the Marquis of Sui’s Pearl, a legendary treasure? So which is more precious, life or wealth?”

A person’s greatest concern is their own self; reputation is not truly something dear. A person’s greatest treasure is their own self; wealth is not what matters most. Only those who do not understand the difference between what is dear and what is distant, what is precious and what is base, harm their lives and damage their nature, even trading life for fame and profit. Boyi died beneath Mount Shouyang for the sake of reputation; Robber Zhi died on Mount Dongling for the sake of profit. Was this not foolish?

Li Rong says: “The body is the foundation for cultivating and attaining the Great Dao, so it should be cherished. Reputation is merely an illusion, so it should be kept at a distance. People refuse to give up reputation to preserve the body; instead, they damage the body for the sake of reputation.”

Wang Bi says: “Those who revere reputation and pursue high office are bound to neglect themselves. Those who crave wealth and are never satisfied are bound in the end to bring harm upon themselves.”

Lü Jifu says: Those who are resolute and fierce pursue fame, yet in doing so they damage their lives and harm their nature. They fail to understand that the body is closer and more important than fame. Hence the question: “Which is closer to you, fame or the body?” Those who covet wealth pursue possessions, yet they too damage their lives and harm their nature. They fail to understand that the body is more worthy of cherishing than material goods. Hence the question: “Which is worth more, the body or possessions?”

Here, “fame” means empty, insubstantial renown, and “goods” means material possessions. The body is the foundation for cultivating the Dao (the Way). How could it not be closer than fame and more important than possessions? Great fame often puts a person in danger. Zhuangzi (Zhuang Zhou) firmly declined the post of chancellor of Chu, preferring to drag his tail through the mud like a tortoise. The Celestial Master (Tianshi) refused the position of court official, preferring to study the Way of the Yellow Emperor, Xuanyuan. These examples show that the body is closer than fame, while fame is something distant.

“Which is more harmful, gaining or losing?” means: Which does greater harm, gaining something or losing it?

The Zuanwei explains: This develops the meaning of the two preceding statements. Empty fame and fleeting gain are easy to acquire; losing one’s nature, life, body, and spirit is as grave as losing Mount Tai. After weighing the matter, those who understand its principles ask: Which is truly a calamity?

Li Rong says: Fame is praise bestowed by others, and wealth consists of the money and goods valued by worldly society. People ought to be loyal and filial, and they can also cultivate the Great Dao. Yet some lose their nature and sink into desire, harming their bodies for fame and damaging themselves for wealth. Many lose their way, so the sages ask carefully: For those who gain fame and possessions but lose themselves, which kind of gain or loss is truly harmful?

Lü Jifu says: Those who pursue fame are called gentlemen by the world; those who pursue possessions are called petty people. Though gentlemen and petty people seek different things, they are alike in losing what they originally possessed. They gain fame or wealth but lose their lives and nature, failing to understand that this loss is more harmful than what they gain. Hence the question: “Which is more harmful, gaining or losing?”

Therefore, whoever cherishes something too dearly will surely pay a heavy price for it; whoever hoards wealth excessively will ultimately suffer a great loss.

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang said: “Excessive attachment to fame is bound to exhaust the mind and damage the spirit. Is this not a great expenditure? Hoarding large amounts of wealth is bound to burden oneself. Is this not a great loss?”

Liu Jinxi said: “The pursuit of desire is never satisfied; this is what is meant by ‘excessive attachment.’ Desire that is too strong harms oneself, so it is called a great expenditure.”

Lü Jifu said: “Cherishing fame is an attempt to make oneself eminent. But by pursuing fame excessively, one instead loses the dignity one already possessed. This is a great expenditure. Accumulating wealth is an attempt to make oneself prosperous. But by coveting too much, one instead harms oneself, so this is called a great expenditure.”

Lü Jifu also said: “Cherishing fame is an attempt to make oneself eminent. Pursue fame excessively, and one will lose even the dignity one already possessed; this is a great expenditure. Accumulating wealth is an attempt to make oneself prosperous. But hoard too much, and one will damage the prosperity one ought to have; this is a great loss.”

Know contentment, and you will not suffer disgrace. Know when to stop, and you will not fall into danger. Only then can you endure.

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang said: “‘Disgrace’ means being harmed or burdened; ‘danger’ means peril or ruin. Not clinging to reputation is knowing contentment; not accumulating wealth is knowing when to stop. When you know contentment, your reputation can match your actual worth, and you will not be burdened by pursuing it excessively. When you know when to stop, wealth will not be hoarded in excess, and you will avoid the misfortune brought on by greed. Free from disgrace and danger, you can endure and live a long life.”

Li Rong said: “Do not seek fame beyond what is proper to your position, and you can stay clear of disgrace. Do not seek wealth by improper means, and you will not fall into danger. Remain detached from fame and profit and keep away from danger; then whether governing the state or cultivating yourself, you can sustain your efforts over time.”

Lü Jifu said: “A person of De (Virtue) understands that what is most precious is within oneself and does not depend on reputation, so they are content and suffer no disgrace. They also understand that true abundance lies within oneself and does not depend on wealth, so they know when to stop and do not fall into danger. Free from disgrace and danger, they can endure.”

The meaning of this chapter is that anyone seeking to cultivate the Way of longevity and long vision should first cut off the pursuit of profit and forget about reputation. If fame and profit are not set aside, they burden both body and mind. This not only obstructs cultivation of the Dao (the Way), but, over time, also harms one’s own life. For this reason, those in ancient times who attained the Dao did not seek proximity to fame and did not amass wealth. Even if they held high office such as the “Three Insignia” and enjoyed generous stipends of “ten thousand zhong,” they regarded these things like worn-out shoes or passing clouds. Some were content with plain food and drink; others lived within humble garden walls. High ministers could not recognize them, and even the Son of Heaven could not claim them as subjects. They made their homes in mountain forests and rocky caves, eating pine nuts and drinking from mountain streams. Why would they damage life’s true nature for things as fleeting and insignificant as snails and flies? This is the precept that cultivators of the Dao should heed most carefully, and an important lesson in self-cultivation. The author therefore cites the ancients as witnesses, urging those who cultivate the Real to cast off the reins of fame and profit.

Chapter 45: Great Completion Seems Incomplete

True perfection seems to have something lacking; for this very reason, its usefulness never runs out.

Imperial Commentary: There are four great things in the world, and the Dao is one of them. Only one who fully comprehends the Great Dao may be called “great.” The Great Dao has no achievement and no deficiency; this is called “great completion.” Because one does not cling to having achieved completion, it appears as though something is lacking. Because one knows how to follow change and does not cling to old opinions, one’s usefulness does not decline. Confucius gathered the learning of the ancient sages and became a sage of great completion, embodying the principle of responding to changing circumstances.

Commentary by the Lord of the River: This refers to a ruler whose cultivation of Dao and De (Virtue/Power) is complete. “Seems to have something lacking” means concealing one’s fame and honors, as though one were not complete oneself. With this way of applying oneself, one will never reach a state of distress and exhaustion.

The Zuānwēi says: “Lacking” means damaged; “worn out” means distressed and in decline. “Great completion” refers to a ruler whose Dao and De are fully realized. Another interpretation takes “great completion” to mean a person of complete virtue. Someone whose virtue is full within can accommodate roughness and impurity without displaying their own qualities. They look like a damaged vessel and do not often show their abilities. For this very reason, they can preserve themselves and avoid distress and decline.

Even if someone has already achieved great deeds, complacency may eventually lead to decline. If they do not claim credit after succeeding, their achievements can endure. Once fame has gathered around them, they should not regard themselves as its owner; in this way, their fame can continue. The perfected person, one of deep cultivation, sees the signs of success and failure, flourishing and decline, and so lets go of achievement and reputation, returning them to the people. Though their Dao has been realized to an extraordinary degree, they always seem to have something yet to attain. Tang Yao accomplished remarkable deeds, yet still felt that he had fallen short; for this reason, he became the most flourishing of the Five Emperors. Confucius gathered the learning of the ancient sages and became a great master of his age, yet did not claim to be a sage; for this reason, he became a teacher to later generations. Their influence has remained ever fresh through the ages. How could it decline?

“The greatest fullness seems empty; its use is inexhaustible.” What is most full appears empty, yet its function never runs out.

The Imperial Commentary says: To fill Heaven and Earth without limit, and to contain all things—this is “great fullness.” Responding to all things with a mind that is empty and still, one receives and uses them as though making room for them. Thus one’s application never runs dry and one’s function is boundless. A skilled merchant hides precious goods deep away, appearing to have nothing at all; a person of profound De (Virtue/Power) often seems plain and unpolished on the outside.

Lü Jifu says: All things draw on it, yet it is never depleted—this is fullness. But even if more were added to it, one could not say that it had thereby become fuller, so it appears empty. Precisely because it appears empty, it can supply things day after day without end.

Kumārajīva says: When wisdom has accumulated until it encompasses everything, this is called “fullness”; when the mind is empty and still, yet able to remain centered, this is called “emptiness.” The meaning is that one who is truly full can forget their own fullness: though complete, they are like emptiness. Because emptiness can contain, it does not run dry. When one’s function can be like this, it has no end.

After the moon is full, it begins to wane; when the mind becomes self-satisfied, it suffers harm. The perfected person knows that fullness and emptiness each follow their own natural course, so even amid abundance they remain humble, empty, and still.

“The greatest straightness seems bent”: what is most upright appears to have some bend in it.

Wang Bi says: One remains upright in response to the circumstances of things. Because uprightness does not cling to itself, it appears bent.

Kumārajīva says: To accord with principle and be free of crookedness is called “straight”; to adapt to things and bend in some measure is called “bent.”

The body can bend, but the Dao cannot. A truly upright person can temporarily bend their body in order to extend the Great Dao. Liu Xiahui held fast to the right way and was dismissed from office three times, yet never changed his resolve; from the outside, he seemed to accept a lowly position.

Kumārajīva says again: To accord with principle and be free of crookedness is called “straight”; to adapt to things and bend in some measure is called “bent.”

The body may be wronged, but the Dao cannot be subdued. A truly upright person may temporarily put personal interests aside in order to uphold what is right. Liu Xiahui held fast to the right path. Though dismissed from office three times, he never left.

Great skill looks like clumsiness.

Su Ziyou says: Skill that appears skillful rather than clumsy must take effort. To follow the natural character of things may look clumsy, but is in fact ingenious.

Liu Jinxi says: The Dao gives birth to the myriad things, shaping them like a furnace and hammer shape their products. Its effect is immense, yet it does not display its workings; it conceals its traces and seems no different from the ordinary. That is why it looks clumsy. True ingenuity lies in acting without contrivance and following nature to bring objects to completion. Without artifice, it gives form to the myriad things, making them square or round, curved or straight, while leaving no sign of its ingenuity. This is precisely what is meant by “great skill looks like clumsiness.” Is not the shaping of all kinds of forms without displaying technique clear proof? It is like Qing the Carpenter carving a bell stand, rather than someone in the state of Song making a show of skill by carving wooden pieces.

Great eloquence looks like inarticulateness.

The Imperial Commentary says: The eloquence that does not display itself through words is called great eloquence. Hui Shi, the Warring States thinker famed for his debating, argued at such length that his eloquence could only be called minor.

Kumārajīva says: Great eloquence is wisdom that understands everything. Because one does not speak in ways that violate reason, one may seem inarticulate.

Su Ziyou says: Eloquence that does not seem inarticulate can easily reach its limit. When one expresses oneself by following the underlying order of things, one may speak slowly, yet still convey reasoned argument.

Restlessness can ward off cold; stillness can overcome heat. Purity and tranquility are the right way for all under Heaven.

Lü Jifu says: Cold and heat are phenomena produced by the workings of Heaven and Earth, and no embodied thing can escape them. Yet a moment of restlessness can ward off cold, and a moment of stillness can overcome heat. If a brief period of agitation or calm can already withstand the changes of Heaven and Earth, then how much more can Wuwei and purity and tranquility, as the right way for all under Heaven, accomplish?

This chapter first discusses “great skill,” “great eloquence,” and other states that seem contrary to their true, higher nature, and concludes with “purity and tranquility are the right way for all under Heaven.” The Old Master says that those who have awakened to the Dao are always pure and tranquil. Those who have awakened to the Dao must be clear and still. Only with an empty, luminous heart can one attain the various forms of greatness described above.

Chapter Forty-Six: When the Dao Prevails in the World

When the Dao prevails in the world, warhorses are sent back to the fields to plow.

When a ruler follows the Dao (the Way) in governing the realm, the people each settle into their own occupations and do not contend with one another. They simply cultivate the fields, fertilize the soil, and work at farming.

Here, “following the Dao” means that the ruler governs the state in accordance with the Great Dao. “Remove” means to do away with; “galloping horses” are horses that race at full speed; and “fertilize” means to enrich the fields with manure. A ruler who follows the Dao is content with little and has few desires. He does not covet things beyond his reach or take up arms. He ends warfare and cultivates education and culture, thus removing the horses used to race into battle and returning the people to their proper occupation of farming. From the perspective of self-cultivation, “galloping horses” may also be compared to a mind that races restlessly from one thought to another. When thoughts do not race outward, the Dantian (energy center), the place in Daoist inner cultivation where Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) are nurtured within the body, can become full.

When the realm lacks the Dao, warhorses appear in the countryside.

Sima Guang says: This happens because desire has no limits, and people devote themselves to competing for things outside themselves.

A ruler who lacks the Dao indulges his desires and launches campaigns in every direction. Warfare never ceases, so military horses remain at the borders for long periods and cannot return. The land beyond a walled city is called the countryside. Those who are restless and quarrelsome cannot be content with little. They, too, give themselves over to pursuing sights and sounds, like riders racing through the countryside of desire.

No fault is greater than coveting things that seem desirable.

The Imperial Commentary says: If one does not chase after things that stir the heart, the mind will not be disturbed. Once people seek to satisfy their desires, they may even risk their lives to do so; this is where contention begins.

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang says: The moment the mind decides that something is desirable, the fault is great. Zhang Junxiang says: When external things are beautiful and alluring, the mind takes them to be “desirable.” When these things suit the mind, they become the conditions that give rise to wrongdoing. If one cannot stop pursuing such external things, great wrongdoing will ultimately follow.

No calamity is greater than failing to know when one has enough.

The Imperial Commentary says: Being content with the ordinary is a blessing; coveting more than one needs instead brings calamity. Those who know contentment will not be disgraced—so what calamity could befall them?

Wang Yuanzhe says: Seeking things outside oneself without end leads to the loss of one’s true nature and brings calamity.

If one does not know that human nature is already complete in itself, yet still seeks fulfillment in external things, one invites impurity and disgrace. One drifts through the cycle of birth and death, often sinking into a sea of suffering, and ultimately loses the true Dao forever. No calamity is greater than this.

No fault is greater than greed for more.

The Great Meng says: “Having gained something, one remains unsatisfied and continues to crave more. The heart knows no limit, and great calamity is sure to follow.” This refers to those who turn away from the Dao, indulge their nature, and let desire drive them, thereby bringing disaster upon themselves. They accumulate wrongdoing without end, implicating both the living and the dead: punishment may fall on them alone, extend to their descendants, or even stain their ancestors with fault.

The Collected Subtleties says: “‘Fault’ means calamity. Even the things in the world that one can see are limited in number. To want to possess all things under heaven, whether seen or unseen, and leave nothing for others is the gravest violation of the Dao. The calamity will fall not only on oneself but also reach later generations.”

“Offense” refers to breaking a prohibition and committing a first transgression. Daoist scriptures emphasize repentance and distinguish among offense, calamity, and fault: a first transgression is called an “offense,” also known as a “transgression”; the word “transgression” implies a mistake. After 1,800 transgressions, it is called a “calamity,” more serious than an offense. After 2,160 transgressions, it is called a “fault,” more serious still. All three are committed by those who turn away from the Dao.

One wants to obtain all things under heaven, whether they can be seen or not. Craving and possessing them brings condemnation from others. When one brings calamity upon oneself, it is an offense; when transgressions are repeated and accumulate to 2,160, it is called a “fault,” more serious than a “calamity.” All these acts are committed by those who turn away from the Dao.

Among all things in the world, some are visible and some are not. If people try to obtain everything they desire, they will invite blame. Persisting in the pursuit of something and thereby bringing guilt upon oneself is called “sin.” Bringing disaster by defying the will of the spirits, or incurring blame by going against human feeling, leads to trouble. Desire gradually leaves people unable to feel satisfied; once dissatisfied, they always want more. Sin brings disaster, disaster invites blame, and in the end one offends everyone. These consequences follow in order: first comes sin, then disaster, and then blame.

Therefore, those who know contentment can always feel content.

The Imperial Commentary says: When people see something desirable, they easily become dissatisfied. Dissatisfaction makes them want to possess it, and this gives rise to disputes and, in turn, turmoil. When a state grows too powerful, war may even break out on its outskirts. If people know contentment, each will keep to their proper place and refrain from using schemes to compete for gain. If they are satisfied with their daily food and livelihood, what conflict could there be?

Prince Shu quotes Mozi: “It is not that there is no secure place to live; it is that I have no contented heart. It is not that there is not enough wealth; it is that I have no contented heart.” Things are often already sufficient, yet people still feel they lack enough. The reason is that they have no contented heart. Those who have attained the Dao know that their state of mind and material possessions are already sufficient. Thus it is said, “Those who know contentment can always feel content.” Wang Yuanze says: If each person fulfills their proper role, what could be lacking?

This chapter says that those who govern the world by the Dao are content within and do not covet things outside themselves. They can therefore put an end to rivalry and war, and avoid disaster and blame. Those who cultivate themselves should lessen their desires and learn contentment, so that their thoughts no longer gallop about like a runaway horse. They should keep the Dantian (the place where Jing and Qi are cultivated and stored in Daoist internal alchemy) settled and steady. Only then may they be called people of the Dao.

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

Compiled by Li Lin, a lay Buddhist of Raoyang in the Song dynasty.

Chapter Forty-Seven: Without Leaving the Door

Without leaving home, one can know the world. Without peering out the window, one can understand the Way of Heaven—the natural patterns of change.

Che Huibi says: Those who walk the Dao keep their minds empty and still. They do not let their thoughts race after worldly affairs, nor do they squander their spirit by reaching outward and chasing after things. With a true mind, they discern what is false, and so they understand matters clearly.

Lu Dian says: The principles of all things are in fact already present in my mind. They include the ways of Heaven and Earth, as well as the human way. If we reflect on ourselves and seek within, without being drawn away by external things, we can understand that the principles of human life can be known without stepping outside the door, and the principles of Heaven can be seen without looking out the window.

Though the world is vast, the sage knows it through the Dao. Though the Way of Heaven is far-reaching and hidden, the sage apprehends it through the mind. When the mind accords with the Dao and observes the world through the Dao, there is no distant place it cannot see into, so there is no need to go out. When the mind apprehends the Way of Heaven, there is no height it cannot reach, so there is no need to look out the window. Yangzi says, “How wondrous the human mind is! When focused and held fast, it remains; when let go and cast aside, it vanishes.” Perhaps only the sage can hold fast to the original mind and keep the spirit from scattering. The sage preserves the spirit and seeks the ultimate in things, bringing Heaven and humanity into harmony and accord, without any separation between them.

The farther one travels, the less one knows.

Cai Zihuang says: Those who do not understand the principles cannot discern themselves and find it difficult to understand others. Their thoughts race outward, pulled along by external circumstances. Even if they leave the house and travel far and wide, or gaze at the stars through a window, they gain little in what they see and hear, because they have abandoned themselves and turned outward in search.

Lü Jifu says: The world is vast and boundless. If one could know it only by going outside, the places a person’s strength could carry them would be limited. How much, then, could they know? The Way of Heaven is remote and difficult to fathom. If one could see it only by looking out, the reach of one’s sight would be limited. How much, then, could one see? That is why it is said: the farther one travels, the less one knows.

Wang Yuanze says: The principle of the boundless Dao is fully present even in something as tiny as a speck of dust. Even when not a single stray thought arises in the mind, the myriad principles are already manifest. Is this not precisely the key to learning the Dao? If instead we travel far and wide in search, we have already lost our way and gained little. In the end, how much could we see? That is why it is said: the farther one travels, the less one knows.

Wang Yuanze said: The principle of the Non-Polar (Wuji), the boundless and fundamental principle, can be fully embodied in a single speck of dust. When the mind is free of even the slightest stray thought, the conditions and connections of all things are already present. Is this not where the key to seeking the Dao lies? Yet some travel far away in search of it, and have already strayed from the path. The farther they go, the less they find. Is that not so?

Thus, the sage understands things without leaving home, knows the Dao of Heaven—the fundamental pattern governing the movement of Heaven and Earth—without seeing it with his own eyes, and brings things to completion without deliberate action.

The Imperial Commentary says: To understand all under Heaven through one’s own wisdom is called “knowing without traveling”; to apprehend the Dao of Heaven through one’s own mind is called “naming without seeing.” If one can know without leaving home and understand without seeing for oneself, what more is there to do? The sage’s achievements are lofty and great; this is called “accomplishing without acting.”

The sage’s wisdom is like that of a spirit, able to discern the bonds and norms of human relations. Yao and Shun understood affairs throughout the realm, and so may be said to have “known without traveling.” They followed the Dao of Heaven and were in accord with it, and so may be said to have “named without seeing.” If one can know without leaving home and understand without seeing for oneself, what more is there to do? One need only govern the realm with reverence and rectitude. Shun’s apprehension of the Dao of Heaven was likewise so. Hence the saying, “accomplishing without acting.”

This chapter is chiefly about the Dao, addressing both the Dao of Heaven and the way of human beings. Though they differ, their fundamental principles are connected. The sage attunes his mind to the Dao: however vast the realm, he can understand it without leaving home; however distant the Dao of Heaven, he can apprehend it without peering through a window. This is what is meant by “knowing without traveling, naming without seeing, and accomplishing without acting.”

Chapter Forty-Eight: Learning Adds Daily

Seeking learning makes knowledge increase day by day; cultivating the Dao makes desires diminish day by day.

The Imperial Commentary says: Learning is pursued in order to attain the Dao. One begins as a scholar and ultimately becomes a sage; knowledge and cultivation increase day by day, and the Dao thereby accumulates within oneself. Confucius said to Yan Yuan, “I see him making steady progress.” To attain the Dao, however, one must let go of attachment to the body and the cleverness of the senses, and free oneself from the constraints of form and ingenuity, allowing all things gradually to fade from the mind. Hence the phrase “diminish day by day.” This is how Qu Boyu, a worthy minister of the Spring and Autumn period in the state of Wei, was able to change in understanding and cultivation once with each passing year.

Those who cultivate the Dao (xiuzhen) should at first study diligently, inquiring into the principles of things as scholars do in their learning. Once they have attained the Dao in the end, they must let go of distinctions of knowledge, so that the myriad things no longer burden the mind. This is called sun (diminishing, letting go). Lian Boyu, at the age of sixty, could still change himself as his understanding of principles changed.

Those who cultivate the Dao study diligently at first in order to inquire into principles. Facing each thing, they seek to understand it, and this is called yi (increasing). In cultivating the Dao, one must fully realize one's innate nature and reach the state of utmost emptiness. When regarding the myriad things, one comes to understand that none of them possesses a fixed and unchanging reality. This is not done by deliberately pursuing diminishment, yet the attachments held in the mind gradually recede.

The text speaks of study first because without learning, one cannot clearly distinguish good from evil, cannot truly believe in the Great Dao, and has no way to cultivate it. Once cultivation is complete, one should then let go of attachment to knowledge. If one still refuses to let go, the more one hears and sees, the more one is likely to be overwhelmed by knowledge, and the mind cannot embody the Great Dao. Therefore the text continues by saying that cultivating the Dao means diminishing day by day. From this we can see that a person who cultivates the Dao studies diligently at first to attain the Dao, and after attaining it, lets go of attachment to knowledge. Only then is such a person a complete adept of cultivation.

Diminish and diminish again, until reaching Wuwei (non-action, the state of not acting rashly or forcing).

Cheng Xuanying said: Those who study cling to what is purposive and desirous, while those who cultivate the Dao may also become stuck in non-action. The two attachments differ in depth, yet both entangle a person. Now, to dissolve both attachments, the text says "diminish again." First let go of attachment to "being," then let go of attachment to "non-being." When the biased views of both study and cultivation are abandoned, neither clinging to being nor clinging to non-being, one accords with the Middle Way.

Prince Shu (Shuwang) said: To exhaust the principles of things and fully manifest one's nature, one must necessarily return to one's benming (original life-root). Therefore, "diminish and diminish again, until reaching non-action" means returning to one's benming. However, this return cannot be rushed. It must pass through a gradual process of reduction and restoration before one can reach one's benming, and so the text says, "diminish and diminish again, until reaching non-action."

Lü Jifu said: When one is diminishing, one still cannot avoid some element of purposeful action. Only when one also lets go of the act of "diminishing" itself can one reach non-action.

When one reaches non-action, nothing remains that cannot be accomplished.

Lü Jifu said: "Reducing action still has not escaped 'action.' Only when even this reducing of action is itself eliminated can one reach non-action (wuwei)."

Non-action (wuwei) does not mean doing nothing; it means following the natural course of things, and so nothing is left undone.

Kumarajiva said: "What is called reduction is the gradual removal of the superfluous, until even evil thoughts are forgotten. One then continues to remove subtle distracting thoughts, until one no longer clings even to good thoughts. Evil is error and good is correctness; having removed error, one also removes attachment to correctness, and so it is said, 'reduce and reduce again.' When neither right nor wrong is clung to, desires are also cut off, and De (Virtue) accords with Dao (the Way), reaching non-action. Though the self does not deliberately act, it allows the myriad things to proceed each by its own course, and so nothing is left undone."

Wang Bi said: "To act is to lose; therefore to practice non-action is to leave nothing undone."

Lü Jifu said: "'Non-being' means not clinging to any particular existence; 'nothing left undone' means not clinging even to 'non-being.' This is what is meant by 'cut off learning and be free of worry' (not being bound by artificial knowledge and distinctions, one has no anxieties). Those who study learn more each day; those who pursue the Dao cling less each day. What is called reduction is the diminishing of existing attachments. If the mind still holds the thought 'I am in the process of reducing,' one has not yet fully let go; one must continue to diminish until even this thought is forgotten, and that is non-action. With the inner mind still and unmoving, one can nonetheless respond to and understand the principles of all things under heaven." The Daodejing says: "The Dao constantly does nothing, yet nothing is left undone."

Governing the realm should always be carried out through the way of non-affairs (wushi).

Liu Zhongping said: "Confucius praised Yao, saying that his greatness was boundless and that the common people did not even know how to praise him; he praised Shun as one who governed through non-action. When governance reaches such a state, the people all feel that everything has always been natural and spontaneous. If one does not govern through non-affairs, how could this state be achieved?"

Non-affairs is the true condition of the Dao. The sage embodies the true condition of the Dao, and the people of the realm turn their hearts to him in allegiance; this is why non-affairs is able to govern the realm.

If there is much activity, one is not sufficient to govern the realm.

The Imperial Commentary says: "The realm is an extraordinarily weighty matter. To hold such a weighty matter, if one cannot be non-acting and non-active, how could one manage it?" Non-affairs is the true condition of the Dao; the sage embodies the true condition of the Dao, and so the people of the realm turn their hearts to him in allegiance, which is why non-affairs can govern the realm.

Governing the state with many affairs and heavy burdens on the people is not enough to win the realm. The realm is a weighty thing, and one cannot treat the myriad things as objects to be arbitrarily manipulated if one is to truly master them. Therefore, to obtain the realm one must often accord with the principle of non-action and non-doing. The realm is a sacred vessel, and it must not be forced into action; to force action is to fail, and to insist on grasping it is to lose it.

The sage follows the Great Dao and cultivates the self through the Dao of original authenticity. The rise of rulers and the establishment of kingdoms both come about by meeting the moment and according with circumstance, and the people naturally turn to them. Taiwang (Gugong Danfu, grandfather of King Wen of Zhou) and Xuanfu (Confucius) both left the Bin region and later achieved the foundation of the Zhou people around Mount Qi. Tang Xuanzong explained: when governmental affairs are numerous, the people become weary; weariness leads to decline, and therefore one is not sufficient to win the realm.

The opening of this chapter says that those who study should take attaining the Great Dao (Dadao) as their goal. To attain the Dao, one must forget the mind of attachment, and therefore one continually diminishes until reaching non-action and non-doing. Non-action (Wuwei) is the constant state of the Dao, and non-doing is its authentic nature; therefore one can win the realm. The Xisheng Jing says: "Through non-action and non-doing, the state is prosperous and the common people are wealthy."

The sage has no fixed private mind and takes the minds of the hundred surnames as his mind. The sage's mind is able to illuminate all things: because the mind is empty and still, it is able to receive and respond. It is like a balance scale showing weight in response to the object placed upon it, or like a valley echoing a sound, where loud or soft sounds each answer in kind. The sage's mind has no fixed pattern; rather, he observes the myriad things and understands human feelings, acting in accordance with the people's wishes. This is what is meant by "taking the minds of the people as his mind." Zhuangzi said: "The people, though humble in station, must not be disregarded in their response."

Liu Jinxi said that "the people" is a collective term for the multitude. The sage has no fixed private mind; when stimulated, he responds, and his responses arise in accordance with things. Therefore, the sage takes the people as his mind: he neither responds deliberately nor is there anything to which he cannot respond.

To those who are good, I respond with goodness; to those who are not good, I also respond with goodness, and thus people are brought to goodness. To those who are trustworthy, I extend trust; to those who are not trustworthy, I also extend trustworthiness, and thus people are brought to trustworthiness.

Good people and not-good people negate one another, and the false and the trustworthy mock each other. These are all worldly sentiments, which always sort things into those who are like oneself and those who are not. But how could such distinctions accord with De (Virtue/Power)? (The Imperial Commentary (Yuzhu) says "should not" means it ought not to be so.)

To the good person I respond with goodness; to the not-good person I also respond with goodness. This is true goodness. To the trustworthy person I extend trust; to the untrustworthy person I also extend trust. This is true trustworthiness.

The Imperial Commentary says: When good and not-good negate each other, and the false and the trustworthy mock each other, this is worldly sentiment, which always draws distinctions of sameness and difference. If one treats others with De, one sees that no act is absolutely beyond the reach of goodness, so the not-good person is also met with goodness. If one holds to trustworthiness through De, one sees that no circumstance is absolutely beyond the reach of trustworthiness, so the untrustworthy person is also given trust. To forget the distinction between true and false, and to bring what is right and what is wrong into accord: this is the person of complete De.

Wang Yuanze says: The distinction between good and evil arises from mistaken views, and mistaken views arise from self-interest. If one embodies the Dao with an impartial mind, then even when one sees good and evil with one's own eyes, the heart does not become attached to distinctions. Therefore the sage follows the habits of ordinary people and reluctantly sets up the labels of praise and blame, yet inwardly understands that good and evil were never fixed opposites. Thus he meets the not-good person with goodness, not out of pity or forgiveness, but because his heart does not feel that the other is fundamentally different. To forget the real distinction between good and evil is true goodness. The myriad things differ in form yet return to the same true substance; the distinction between trust and distrust, however, arises from self-interest. Understanding that all appearances may be illusory, one can regard the not-good person as no different from the good. Understanding that all appearances also never leave the real, one can regard the untrustworthy person as no different from one who is worthy of trust. To see the real within the illusory, and the illusory within the real, is precisely where the sage's wisdom differs from that of ordinary people.

The sage, when acting in the world, is always wary and cautious, and for the sake of all under heaven causes their hearts to return to simplicity and plainness.

The Imperial Commentary says: When the sage dwells in the world, the fortune and misfortune of all under heaven are shared with the common people. Although he does not hold to a single unchanging mind, he cannot therefore be without vigilance, and so he is always wary and cautious, causing the hearts of all under heaven to return to simplicity and plainness.

The Imperial Commentary further says: For his own sake, the sage is always wary and cautious and does not dare to be at ease. For the sake of all under heaven, he treats good and not-good alike, forgets the distinction between the false and the trustworthy, withdraws his praise and blame, and returns the myriad things to a state of undivided simplicity.

Cai Zihuang says: The sage uses a teaching without discrimination to harmonize the discriminating minds of sentient beings. Sentient beings have good and not-good, trustworthy and not-trustworthy, and thus various discriminations arise in their minds; but the sage regards them all as good and all as trustworthy, causing everything to return to a profound and equal realm. Therefore it is called “hun” (the undifferentiated).

Wang Yuanze says: “Diedie” describes a state of fear and caution.

The common people all focus their attention on the sage’s words and actions, while the sage regards the people as children.

Wang Yuanze says: The common people look up to and imitate the sage, but ignorant common people often act in ways contrary to reason. The sage pities and guides them, as parents treat an infant, gently following their intentions and temperaments, without anger or aversion. If not someone who has realized the great Dao, forgotten external things, and is as benevolent as one who takes Heaven and Earth as companions, who could do this?

This chapter says: The sage follows the great Dao without private intentions, and therefore forgets the distinction between good and evil, causing both the unrestrained and the trustworthy to be treated equally; yet while among the people of the world, the sage remains always cautious and does not dare act rashly. As for governing the world, the sage’s attitude is wholly undifferentiated. The common people look up to and imitate the sage, and the sage treats them with lovingkindness and generosity; even those who are not good and not trustworthy are treated with goodwill and trust. This is what is meant by “regarding the people as children.” If not someone who has realized the great Dao and is without private intentions, who could do this?

Chapter Fifty: Emerging into Life and Entering Death

Emerging into life and entering death.

Cai Zihuang says: Sentient beings lose the root of Wuwei (non-action) and purity and tranquility, create the defiled karma of purposeful action, and thus move back and forth between concealment and manifestation, undergoing the cycle of birth and death. From nonbeing to being is called “emerging into life”; from being returning to nonbeing is called “entering death.”

Lü Jifu says: Life is of the same kind as death, and death is the beginning of life; life and death connect with each other and are nothing more than the changes of exiting and entering.

Lu Dian says: In original nature there is fundamentally no birth or death; when it manifests, it is life; when it withdraws, it is death.

Three in ten belong to the category of life, and three in ten belong to the category of death.

Han Feizi said: The four limbs and the nine orifices (the sense organs such as the eyes, ears, nose, and mouth) together make thirteen parts, and their activities bear on whether a person lives or dies. One who is skilled at nourishing life does not carelessly gaze upon gaudy colors, does not carelessly listen to licentious sounds, does not carelessly smell foul or rank odors, does not speak words that contradict the proper Dao (Way), does not hold weapons, and does not walk crooked paths. Such a person is composed in conduct and commits no manner of wrongdoing, and such people belong to the long-lived. Those who move toward death behave in exactly the opposite way: their conduct is immersed in excess and loses measure, and they keep far from all good deeds, so such people draw near to death. The roots of life and death in human beings all lie in the conduct of these thirteen parts. This account agrees with the explanation of Heshang Gong.

Emperor Ming of Tang said: Taken as a whole, among living beings, those who accord with the principles of life and pass through their years in peace make up about three in ten. Those who, while in the realm of death, still accord with the principles of death and calmly accept it likewise make up about three in ten.

Lu Dian said: The mind-spirit (xin shen) that issues outward and shows itself as yang belongs to the category of those who tend toward life. The mind-spirit that gathers inward and shows itself as yin belongs to the category of those who tend toward death. If one clings solely to the outward, even to the point of studying in order to escape death and craving longevity, one has reached the extreme of outwardness. If one clings solely to the inward, even to the point of studying in order to enter extinction and delighting in dwelling long in deathly stillness, one has reached the extreme of inwardness. These two kinds of people together make up about three in ten.

People are alive, yet they continually take up conduct that drives them toward the ground of death, and these make up three in ten.

Wang Yuanze said: Clinging to life causes one to lose the correct principle, so every movement may injure one's nature. Among everyone under heaven, apart from the common people who do not know the constant Dao, some cling to the Dao and chase after its arts (dao shu), while others cling to desire and sink into wrongdoing. Both are cases of treating life as a private possession and insisting on managing the self, and so they inevitably fall into the cycle of life and death.

People who live yet repeatedly walk toward the place of death are roughly three in ten. Those who value life excessively and regard nourishing the self as paramount end up harming their lives, and so they walk toward death. Those who transcend these three conditions are not bound by birth and death.

Why is this so? Because they take excessive pains to manage and lavishly nourish their lives.

The Imperial Annotation (Yuzhu) says: Those who cling to living are often burdened by the body and its desires, while those who single-mindedly tend toward quiescence forget the self. Those who walk toward the place of death, with instruments of punishment at hand and prisons in view, are the result of over-nourishing life. Another view holds that these people do not understand that the body itself is a great calamity and that life has its end, yet they still cling excessively to preserving their lives. Ancient people who attained the Dao did not indulge their desires and harm their bodies because of wealth and rank, nor did they let emolument and profit burden their bodies and minds. They did not crave longevity, nor did they grieve over early death. Clear and penetrating, they apprehended the independent and unchanging Dao, and so they could transcend past and present and were not bound by birth and death.

Commentator Wen (Wengong) says: Among ten people, about three are gentle and hold to yielding in order to preserve their lives. Three are unyielding and self-assertive, and thereby hasten their deaths. Another three, though they single-mindedly cherish their lives, still cannot avoid walking toward death. That they cherish life yet draw near to death is because they place too much weight on caring for and nourishing themselves.

The Jing (Scripture) says: People easily fall into death because they excessively seek to preserve life. Only those who do not deliberately strive, and who are not attached to life, surpass those who regard life as especially precious.

It is said that those skilled at nourishing life—

Heshang Gong explains: "She" means to nourish.

"Excessively nourishing" means that because people overly pursue the preservation of their lives, they tend instead to neglect death. The Jing says: People easily fall into death because they excessively seek to preserve life. Only those who do not deliberately strive, and who are not attached to life, surpass those who regard life as especially precious.

As for the phrase "It is said that those skilled at nourishing life," Heshang Gong glosses "she" as nourishing. Zuanwei (Compiled Subtleties) notes that Laozi does not directly say "I am skilled at nourishing life" but uses "it is said," a humble expression. "She" also carries the sense of protecting and holding fast. Those skilled at nourishing life can grasp the subtle principles within when they care for body and mind.

Such people, traveling on land, will not encounter the harm of rhinoceroses or tigers. Entering military ranks, they will not be wounded by weapons.

Heshang Gong holds that walking on land, one will not encounter rhinoceroses or tigers, meaning that they naturally avoid and do not harm such a person. Entering an army, one will not be injured by weapons, because such a person does not delight in war and does not take killing as a practice.

Cheng Xuanying (Cheng Xuanying) says that this passage speaks of the Three Poisons (sandu): greed (tan), anger (chen), and delusion (chi). If one can cultivate body and mind until one reaches a state free of attachment and of contrivance, then with no Three Poisons within, the Three Poisons outside cannot harm the self. Thus, one who walks on land will not meet rhinoceroses or tigers, and one who is among soldiers will not be struck by weapons. Why is this so? Because the tiger symbolizes anger, the rhinoceros symbolizes foolishness, and the weapon symbolizes desire.

The rhinoceros has no place to use its horn, the tiger has no place to display its claws, and the weapon has no place to bring down its edge.

Prince Shu says that one who is truly skilled at nourishing life (shesheng) is able to attain "no-self" (wu wo), that is, to be unattached to the self. Being unattached to the self, one does not harm external things, and so external things cannot harm the self.

The Zhuangzi says that if a person can let go of the self and move through the world at ease, who could possibly harm them?

Why is this so? Because such a person has no situation that leads toward death.

Wang Yuanze says that "having no ground of death" is due to attaining the state of "non-birth" (wusheng). What is called non-birth is a condition of tranquil clarity, constantly abiding and unchanging, yet not regarding oneself as a being that arises on its own.

Why is this so? Because such a person has no situation that leads toward death.

Wang Yuanze further explains: what is called "no ground of death" arises from "non-birth." One who attains non-birth remains clear and constant, yet is not attached to the notion of having arisen, and therefore has never truly been born and never truly dies. When the Dao reaches this state, even if the form changes, the spirit (shen) does not alter, so how could there be death? This is what the Chinese call the sacred person, and what the West calls the Buddha. Such a person moves with transformations without being bound by them. Water and fire cannot scorch or soak them, blades and axes cannot wound them, and they pass freely through both empty and solid places. Even if external things sought to obtain them, they could not, much less harm them.

Someone asked: since this is so, why is it still said that one should "nourish life"? The answer is that just below this state, there is still a distinction between life and death. To truly nourish life, one must reach this state, so that life can be preserved constantly. This is a level even higher than "one whose De is abundantly embodied" (han De zhi hou).

Sima Guang (Lord Wen) says that the rhinoceros and the tiger are metaphors for people who are strong, fierce, and violent. That one is not injured while among violence is because one is gentle, yielding, and does not contend with others.

Kumārajīva (Luoshi) says that "ground" (di) may be understood as "birth" (sheng). Because one nourishes life and thereby reaches non-birth, the Three Poisons of greed, anger, and delusion cannot harm them.

Chapter 51: The Dao Gives Birth to Things

This chapter explains how the myriad things come into being and the principle of life and death. Laozi makes his point in ten sentences, and each thing has three possible conditions. That one who stands within violence and is not harmed is because of softness (rou) and non-contention (bu zheng).

Luo Shi (Kumarajiva) says: "Di" (ground, place) may be understood as "birth." One who knows how to nourish life and to accord with life does not cling to seeking survival, and so the three poisons of greed (tan), anger (chen), and delusion (chi) cannot harm him.

The chapter further says that the myriad things each have their own principle of life and death. One who is skilled at nourishing life can connect with the Dao and go beyond the three conditions described above. Even when he meets tigers, rhinoceroses (xi), or weapons, they cannot harm him, and so it is said that there is "no place of death."

Chapter 51: The Dao Gives Birth to Things

The Dao generates the myriad things, De (Virtue/Power) nourishes them, they take on their forms, and their circumstances bring them to completion. The Imperial Commentary (Yuzhu) says: Once the myriad things have bodies, each takes on its own physical appearance and momentum. Long and short stand in contrast to one another, and high and low are compared; these differences are the tendencies that arise from the development of things.

Lü Jifu says: The generation of the myriad things often has its root in what has no name and no form. When the myriad things are nourished, they are in a state of unity, not yet manifest, and it is from this that they come into being. The root without name and form is the Dao. That the myriad things come into being within this unified, unmanifest state is due to the working of De.

Once the myriad things become concrete beings, they simply display their individual forms. It is not the form itself that makes them come into being and be nourished. Once they have form, the naked remain naked, and those with scales or feathers each keep their own shapes. From youth to maturity to old age and death, all develop according to their own conditions and tendencies. Thus it is said: "The Dao generates them, De nourishes them, things give them form, and circumstances complete them."

The Dao produces a subtle function, De disperses qi (vital energy), and as qi flows, the myriad things arise. When they come into being, each forms its own order, and this is called "form" (xing). For this reason, there is no thing that does not honor the Dao and treasure De.

Lü Jifu says: Tendency arises from form, form arises from De, and De arises from the Dao. The Dao and De are the root, while form and tendency are the branches. The root is honored and the branches are relatively lowly; the root is treasured and the branches are relatively undervalued. For this reason, there is no thing that does not honor the Dao and treasure De.

The Dao is the source from which all things are born. It sends down pure, refined qi and so forms the natural endowments of all things. De is what each thing receives from the Dao: it lodges harmonious qi within things and uses it to cultivate their bodily forms. The Dao and De are the root, while bodily form and circumstance are the branches. The root is honored and the branches are lowly; the root is precious and the branches are cheap. For this reason, there is nothing in the myriad things that does not revere the Dao and treasure De.

The Dao generates and nourishes the myriad things like a father, and so the Dao is honored while the myriad things are lowly. Because it is honored, it can govern the myriad things and make them appear small. The "True Lord" (zhenjun) that Zhuangzi speaks of refers to the Dao. De nurtures the myriad things like a mother, and so De is precious while the myriad things are humble, and they have no way to despise De. The "True Ruler" (zhenzai) that Zhuangzi speaks of refers to De. "Honored" is like a sovereign or a father; "precious" is like gold and jade. This is the difference between "honored" (zun) and "precious" (gui).

The honor of the Dao and the preciousness of De are not conferred by anyone through the granting of rank. They are always naturally so.

Tang Mingdi (Emperor Ming of Tang) said: The honor of the Dao and De does not come from enfeoffment or appointment. It is because they generate the myriad things and allow them to grow, and this function reaches every thing. Therefore the Dao and De are naturally and constantly honored.

Wang Yuanze said: The Son of Heaven receives his mandate from Heaven, and the feudal lords receive theirs from the Son of Heaven. Whoever receives an appointment has a rank that the one who appoints can lower. Only the Dao, which precedes the myriad things and determines their destiny, is there anyone who could confer a rank upon it? Therefore the honor of the Dao is always natural.

Thus, the Dao generates and nourishes the myriad things, causing them to grow and develop, to take form and reach maturity, and it also protects and shelters them.

The Dao is profound and unfathomable. When the myriad things change and sprout forth, the Dao enables them to come into being; when the myriad things gather in and go into hiding, the Dao enables them to be completed. The myriad things sprout from the position of Zhen (Thunder, symbolizing spring's birth), are completed at the position of Gen (Mountain, symbolizing cessation and formation), are nourished at the position of Kun (Earth, symbolizing bearing and rearing), and are sheltered beneath Qian (Heaven, symbolizing covering). Yin and Yang, the firm and the yielding, rub against and stir one another, and the Eight Trigrams (Bagua) surge in mutual agitation, as though some mechanism drove the transformations so that they could never cease. All of this, in truth, is governed by the Dao.

Commentary from the Zuanwei (Zuanwei, the compiled commentary) says: The previous passage stated that "the Dao gives birth to and nourishes the myriad things, and De (Virtue) raises and sustains them." Here De is not mentioned again, because the Dao's single vital energy (qi) runs through all things, so the explanation of De is omitted. When the myriad things receive the essential qi (jing) of the Dao, this is called "giving birth" (sheng). When they hold and store the Dao's qi, this is called "rearing" (xu). When their forms are fully grown, this is called "growing" (chang). When the Dao names them so that they are nurtured, this is called "nourishing" (yu). When it helps them accomplish their work, this is called "completing" (cheng). When it brings them to maturity in step with the seasons, this is called "ripening" (shu). When it keeps them in harmony, this is called "sustaining" (yang). When it protects them from harm, this is called "covering" (fu). These eight functions are the fundamental operations of the Great Dao. Whether the tiny, fluttering creatures or the crawling living beings, how could they fail to revere and cherish the Dao?

"It gives birth to them but does not possess them, acts but does not rely on them, leads them but does not dominate them." This is called "profound De" (xuan de), a virtue that is deep and not made visible.

The Imperial Commentary (Yuzhu) says: When the myriad things begin to appear, this is the work of "giving birth." When the myriad things undergo transformation, this is the work of "acting." When the myriad things return to unity, this is the work of "growing." All of these are the Dao manifesting within De. Yet the Dao gives birth to and nourishes the myriad things without claiming the merit of doing so; it transforms them without relying on its own ability; it causes them to grow without deliberately controlling them. Such subtle creation is beyond the reach of minor virtue, and therefore it is called "profound De."

The Zuanwei says: This passage summarizes the eight functions described above, such as giving birth and rearing. The Dao brings forth the myriad things without revealing that it has done anything. If it displayed its achievement, it would claim its favors as its own. The Dao nourishes the myriad things without relying on its own activity; if it relied on such activity, it would claim credit. The Dao causes the myriad things to grow, nourishes the various living beings, and brings the myriad things to maturity, while carrying and covering both animals and plants, yet it does not boast of governing them. If it boasted in this way, it would be occupying the position of the chief of all things. Although the Dao possesses these functions, it withdraws and hides itself. This may be called a profound and concealed virtue.

Emperor Ming of Tang says: The detailed explanation appears in the chapter "Embracing the Soul" (Zai Ying Po Zhang). That chapter teaches that a person should cultivate themselves to become like the Dao; this chapter shows that the functions of the Dao correspond to human cultivation.

This chapter explains that the Dao, through De, gives birth to and nourishes the myriad things, and for this reason the myriad things revere and cherish the Dao.

Dao (the Way) is the most honored, and De (Virtue) is the most precious. Who could confer titles of nobility upon Dao and De? They simply remain ever in their natural course. Considered separately, Dao and De each have their own distinctions; considered together, both issue from Dao. Therefore, the passage concludes with "Xuan De" (profound and mysterious De), to show that Dao and De are originally blended into one and share the same mystery.

Chapter 52: The World Has a Beginning

All things under heaven have a single source, and this source is regarded as the mother of all things under heaven.

Lü