《道德真经指归(严遵)》Vol. 4

Thus, calamity falls upon the people themselves and extends even to their descendants. The people go unclothed and unfed, living in poverty and hardship. They pursue profit and wrongdoing, abandoning public duty for private gain, because those who build up their own households grow wealthy, while those who seek the state’s interests fall into poverty. The upright are often the first to be killed, while the honest are left in hardship. Customs therefore deteriorate, and the world becomes shallow and false: the powerful disrupt society, while the noble-minded can only hide to avoid disaster. The many oppress the few, the strong humiliate the weak, the poor are reduced to servitude, and wealthy families enjoy the status of kings.

This happens because rulers who indulge their desires and disrupt the government do not understand the natural Way. They go against their nature and give free rein to their appetites, depart from the Great Way, and use cleverness to adorn and contrive things, all to satisfy their own wishes. The people are difficult to guide because those above them practice deliberate governance. In this way, honest simplicity fades, while cunning and deceit multiply. Strange and ingenious objects keep appearing in countless varieties. The flattering are brought close and trusted; the crooked and false are rewarded. Ministers’ schemes flourish, while the ruler’s proper Way is gradually obstructed. Abuses and deception grow, bringing the danger of ruin; upright and loyal people are increasingly kept at a distance, while those who deceive the age gather in crowds, rise to power, and have their way.

Murderers go unpunished, and prohibitions against wickedness are no longer enforced. Power is established, its force even shaking the armies. At a glance or a gesture from the ruler, everyone responds at once: whoever he wishes to live, he lets live. The world becomes fickle, bewildering, and oppressive. People feel that death is preferable to life; their resolve turns violent, and they glare at one another in anger. Ruler and minister scheme against each other, and father and son grow suspicious of one another. They do not fear even boiling cauldrons—the vessels used for execution by boiling—and sharp axes cannot stop them.

People disregard their lives and prize wealth. They risk perilous roads and break severe prohibitions, even rushing toward blades and flying arrows without regard for their safety, because they regard profit as all-important. They covet the honor that comes with a good name and want to enjoy life to the fullest. As the saying goes, “People disregard death because their desire to live is too strong.” Thus, they are wounded by the loss of possessions and rank, and may even injure or kill themselves: some lose their minds and hang themselves; some exhaust their spirit and cut themselves; others leap into deep water and drown. All this shows how readily people meet their deaths.

The natural Way often runs counter to worldly pursuits: those who do not cling to themselves preserve themselves, while those who cling to themselves bring about their own death. Pursuing profit readily leads to disaster, and seeking good fortune can bring calamity. Trouble comes unbidden, and people often encounter fortune and misfortune when they least expect them. Even when they try to escape, they often cannot break free. Thus, excessive concern for staying alive and the pursuit of profit lead toward death; forgetting oneself and relinquishing profit are the foundations of preserving life.

By taking a lowly, yielding position, one does not seek a reputation and is therefore less exposed to calamity. By willingly accepting low status and humiliation, one can avoid disaster. Eating coarse grain and wild greens allows one to be content with simplicity; wearing plain cloth and a deerskin coat can also seem suitable for the long term. If one does not use the governing of the people as a means to satisfy private desires, one can live in peace. By not clinging to the pursuit of life, one can instead endure. This is what it means not to make the preservation of life one’s concern.

Therefore, a person who can rid himself of private desires and lessen his attachment to himself, until he has nothing left to covet, lies down as peacefully as a corpse and stands as still as a wooden post. He is not startled by change and does not distinguish between life and death. He does not exalt lords and kings or despise slaves. He is at ease with whatever he encounters and lets transformation take its course: he does not grieve when killed or rejoice when granted life. Such a person accords with the Way and befriends Heaven and Earth. He can endure for a long time and maintain a far-reaching spiritual vision; when his life ends, he returns once more to the beginning. He does not make wealth and rank his aims, and so becomes a model for all under Heaven. This is wiser than placing all one’s value on oneself and clinging to the pursuit of life.

While people are alive, their bodies are supple because Shen and Qi remain within them. After death, their bodies grow stiff because Shen and Qi have departed. Plants are tender and fragile as they grow because Yang Qi is abundant; when they wither, they become dry and rigid as Yang Qi dissipates. Thus, stiffness and forcefulness are signs of approaching death and decline, while softness and weakness favor life and embody its vitality.

When an army relies on force, it cannot defeat its enemy, because the opposing side will resist and counter it from every direction. The larger and thicker a tree grows, the more tools are needed to cut it down. When the strong occupy a low position, it shows that the way of their development has reached its limit. When the weak occupy a higher position, they can adapt and harmonize, remaining in a balanced state.

There is something that comes into being at the same time as all things, yet has no shape or sound. It has no color, taste, or smell. It enters and leaves without a gateway, and comes and goes without a path. It has no branches or stems above, no roots or foundations below. It is still and unchanging, remaining constant; yet it is subtle and gentle, changing without taking any fixed form. It blends with all things and gives rise to “Three”—the fundamental levels, such as Heaven, Earth, and Yin-Yang, from which all things are generated. It is the beginning of Heaven and Earth, the source of Yin-Yang. It exists while all things exist, and withdraws when they perish. It cannot be named, so for now we may call it “Divine Spirit,” the subtle, underlying power that creates all things.

It is born in the Great Void and grows within the formless. Those who receive it are never depleted, and those who give it are never exhausted. Its movement has no end; in stillness, it is difficult to grasp. It is so vast that nothing lies outside it, and so small that nothing can exclude it. It moves beyond all things and runs through every form of existence. The movements of Heaven and Earth cannot catch up with it, nor can Yin-Yang race fast enough to overtake it. When sound has vanished, it can still answer where there is no sound; when shadows have disappeared, it still reaches all things. We may draw upon it without diminishing it, and give it to all things without becoming impoverished.

It makes distinctions, yet feels neither dislike nor preference. It holds to gentleness, stays low, and returns to emptiness. In advancing and withdrawing, bending and extending, it remains accompanied by De—the inner power that follows the Dao—and serves as the Dao’s forerunner. All things tend to despise weakness and prize strength. So those who receive much are seen as wise, while those who receive little are regarded as dull. For this reason, Divine Spirit and sage wisdom are the masters of life, while gentleness and stillness are where Divine Spirit takes up residence.

At birth, the body is soft, showing that Divine Spirit is within it. When Divine Spirit has a secure home in a person, it does not leave; when it loses that home, it cannot remain. Its power cannot be controlled by force, nor can it be produced by intelligence or skill. If one can preserve and gather Divine Spirit, wealth and honor can endure without end, one’s position can remain secure, and the passage of time can bring greater peace.

When a person is first born, the bones are soft, the sinews supple, the blood and Qi flow freely, the mind is focused, the spirit is calm, the complexion bright, and the body moist and vibrant. Their manner is gentle, their joints are sound, and as they grow, they become perceptive within a few months. This is because Divine Spirit dwells within the body. In old age, the bones become brittle, the sinews stiffen, the hair turns white, and the flesh grows thin. Food loses its taste, hearing and sight decline, strength gradually fades, and movement grows slower. Thought becomes confused, and one’s choices often contradict each other. At death, the body withers, the face grows gaunt, the tongue draws back, and the body becomes rigid. This is because Divine Spirit has departed; after death, the body grows hard and stiff.

When plants and trees first grow, their branches are moist, their flowers and leaves green, lush, and spreading, and they are supple and yielding. This is because Yang Qi—the warm energy that drives the growth of life—is still present. As plants and trees decline, their flowers and leaves turn yellow and withered. At death, their roots and stems dry up and their branches become hard. This is because Yang Qi has departed.

Where Divine Spirit dwells, what is in danger can become secure, and what is near death may live again. Where Divine Spirit has left, what is secure can fall into danger, and what is strong can decay. Where Yang Qi is present, wood can bend and grass can be tied in knots. When Yang Qi departs, water vapor congeals into ice, and the ice itself can break. Thus Divine Spirit and Yang Qi are the root of life in all things, while gentleness is the best medicine for sustaining life. Gentleness and compliance are conditions for lasting life, and the places where Divine Spirit and Yang Qi find support. All things follow Yang Qi toward gentleness. Therefore, hardness, strength, fullness, and solidity are signs of death; softness and moisture are where life dwells. The strong belong to the side of death, the weak to the side of life.

Human nature is the same. People dislike the father from the western neighbor because he is powerful, and love the child from the eastern neighbor because the child is young and tender. They burn what has withered because it is hard, and wear beautiful ornaments because they are soft, moist, and pleasing. They love the young and dislike the old because the Qi of life is more abundant in the young.

Thus, when there is no common ruler under Heaven, feudal lords seize one another’s lands, rival states fight for power, and armies go to war. In the end, the weaker side may prevail, while the stronger side is brought to ruin. Why is this so? A powerful army that does not follow the Dao of Heaven and Earth turns away from the foundations of harmony, gentleness, and compassion. Instead, it relies on the strength of the state and its large population, pursuing fame and displaying its might. It covets the lands and wealth of other states, takes pleasure in killing and injuring people, destroys their ancestral temples, and ends their sacrifices in order to display its authority. Though it appears to humble itself and act weak, it takes advantage of others’ peril to advance its private aims. Those who draw near it lose their lives; those who serve it meet disaster. Its crimes run counter to the hearts of the people, and its killings violate Heaven’s intent. While such rulers live, they make all under Heaven suffer; after they die, all under Heaven benefits. The many weak join together, sharing their grief and planning as one. Even if the strong seem powerful in name, they cannot truly prevail. This is what is meant by “a mighty army cannot win.” Why? The evil consequences of killing spread throughout the world, and the Way of Heaven will not protect such a ruler.

What example shows this? In the past, Qin and Chu were powerful. They swallowed up feudal states and annexed commanderies and districts. Their lands were wealthy, their rulers held the title of Son of Heaven, their power reached across the world, and their might shook the Four Seas. Their honor and eminence were at their peak; they could be called supremely powerful. Yet even as they sat with their hands folded, the feudal lords remained fearful. At the slightest move, the world was thrown into panic. When they issued commands, Heaven’s heart felt sorrow; when they sent out troops, even the spirits were unsettled. In the end, their states fell, their houses were ruined, and the rulers themselves were left decapitated. This was because they abandoned gentleness and weakness and pursued hardness and strength.

Later, as the Han dynasty was about to rise, Liu Bang once went into hiding. The people searched for him, but they could not prevent his eventual rise. He honored Heaven as his father and Earth as his mother, loved the people as his children, rewarded those who had served well, cared for the virtuous, and learned from people of insight. He adapted to his enemies’ changing circumstances, his strategies were as deep and broad as rivers and seas, and he won his battles, bringing Qin to submission and destroying Chu. All under Heaven rejoiced and raised him up as Son of Heaven. This was because he followed Heaven’s intent and knew how to care for the weak.

This applies not only to human affairs; all things follow the same pattern. A huge tree may rise a hundred fathoms high and be so thick that several people could encircle it. Its trunk may be hollowed out to make a doorway, and its roots may divide into two sides. It bears no fruit and is often pressed down beneath other trees. Thousands of branches and trees spread their limbs and unfurl their green leaves, growing lush and green above it, precisely because it is so large and powerful. This is what is meant by “the great tree is strong, so all the other trees press down upon it together.”

Thus, the way of Divine Spirit is also the principle of Heaven and Earth: the small cannot bear the large, and the light cannot bear the heavy. A strong man cannot therefore become a ruler, nor can a strong tree thereby take the higher place. The strong are instead found below. Why? When a strong man rules, the myriad states are distressed; when a strong tree stands above, its roots are bound to wither. People believe themselves strong, so they end up below; sages place themselves among the weak, so they occupy the higher place. The strong below and the weak above: this is the natural order of all things and the inevitable principle.

The Dao of Heaven takes humility and lowliness as its constant way, and so it dwells in low places. The sage puts himself in a humble and unimportant position, and so comes to occupy the highest place. The strong remain below, while the weak dwell above: this is how all things naturally take shape. The weak rise to the top because this is what principle and the natural order require.

The Dao of Heaven brings Yin and Yang into balance, like drawing a bow: the higher end is pressed down to level it, while the lower end is raised to help it return to its proper form. What is excessive is reduced so it does not become full; what is insufficient is supplemented so it is no longer lacking. The Dao of Heaven diminishes what is in excess, bringing it back to the ordinary, and enriches what is insufficient, helping what is lacking to be replenished.

The ways of the human world are different. People often take from those who have too little, plundering the weak, and give what they seize to those who already have plenty and to the powerful. Who can reduce what is excessive, understand the natural order, and use what is gained to provide for all under Heaven, so that everyone can live? Only a person who follows the Dao can do this, without seeking fame.

Therefore, the sage calls a wise ruler one who takes action without relying on his achievements or expecting anything in return; who, when a task is complete, does not claim it as his own, but withdraws once it is done; who does not covet high status or glory, nor seek to display his own virtue, lest he bring great calamity upon himself.

Before Heaven and Earth had taken shape, before Yin and Yang had begun to stir, before there were signs of cold and heat, or distinctions between light and dark, something already existed between them: pure Qi rose, turbid Qi sank, and harmonizing Qi remained in the middle. Working together, these three brought Heaven and Earth into being. Yin and Yang joined and mingled, and from them all things came forth. To go against this way of harmony is to decline; to follow it is to flourish.

Harmony acts upon all things, making the strong firm without breaking and the weak supple without withering. In Heaven, it serves like a carpenter’s ink line to set things straight; on Earth, like a measuring rod to gauge them. On the Yang side, it is like a compass; on the Yin side, like a square. It neither acts rashly nor remains stubbornly fixed; it neither gives by force nor takes greedily. All things grow through yielding, while Qi exerts its power through solidity. In movement and stillness alike, each thing finds what is fitting to it.

Harmony is therefore the means through which the Dao and De take effect, an aid to the spirits, the principle by which Heaven and Earth operate, the foundation on which living beings make their home, and the essential guide followed by all quarters. It is a treasure of nature and a gateway to good fortune and blessings. The intelligent see wisdom in it, and the humane see benevolence. All things under Heaven follow it, never leaving it by day or night, yet few can perceive it. Why? Because its work of nurturing all things is subtle, and the way it brings things to completion is exquisite.

The Dao of Heaven and Earth does not favor what benefits or harms. It takes Wuwei (non-action) as its rule, remaining open, harmonious, and upright, and deeply attuned to all things. It wastes nothing and clings to no particular place. It allows each thing to set its own nature and life in order, and so all things grow of themselves.

When a thing flourishes to its utmost, it begins to destroy itself; when stretched to its limit, it slackens of its own accord. What is hidden will eventually appear, and what is minute will eventually become visible. What is lacking will be replenished, and what is abundant will be reduced. What is preserved will also perish, and what is alive will eventually die. Right and wrong turn into one another; good and ill fortune are brought upon oneself. Loss cannot be avoided, nor can increase be refused. Misfortune does not remain forever, and blessings cannot be possessed forever. Each receives its allotted share; no one can have everything at once.

Fish have no fur, and furry animals have no feathers. Some animals have teeth, while horned animals lack them. What appears in daylight vanishes at night; what is gained at first may later be lost. Benefits do not keep accumulating without end, nor do gains grow heavier without any reduction. Things do not all rise at once, and benefits do not come in pairs. Anyone determined to make everything fixed will become trapped and find it hard to escape.

Thus, when the sun reaches its height at noon, it begins to move westward; when the moon is full, it begins to wane. The seasons alternate, with decrease and increase taking turns. Beneath a high mountain there must be a deep valley, and a great river’s current also stirs up waves. Fierce fire can melt metal and boil stone, while solid ice can preserve them. Even the cracking of the ground arises from changes in Yin and Yang. This is the pattern of Heaven and Earth: when Yin reaches its extreme, it turns into Yang; when Yang reaches its extreme, it turns into Yin. Craftspeople of every kind follow this principle in their work.

When a bowyer makes a bow, the bow stave is first made to contract and expand, then adjusted with a square and an ink line. If the bowstring is too tight and the back of the bow too high, they are loosened; if the string is too slack and the bow’s back too low, they are tightened and raised. Excess is shaved away, and what is lacking is added. The bow and its string are fitted to one another and judged against each other from top to bottom. Evenness is the standard, and harmony the constant principle. In this way the bow can be drawn properly and the arrow can fly. The Dao of Heaven works in the same way, which is why it is said to be like drawing a bow: it lowers what is high and raises what is low; it reduces what is excessive and adds to what is lacking. This is the Dao of Heaven and Earth.

Whether to depart from the Dao of Heaven in order to accommodate the people, or to go against the people in order to follow the Dao of Heaven, is something that worthy ministers and sage rulers must weigh. People in the world commonly place the wise and capable above the dull, give higher rank to the able and skilled, and lower office to those with lesser abilities. They reward those with little merit sparingly, while those who labor greatly do not necessarily receive generous stipends. These are common practices among rulers and in the governance of human affairs.

Ordinary people, however, often bully the honest and straightforward, insult the loyal and trustworthy, prey on the weak, and make the ignorant serve others. They take resources from the weak and hand them to the strong, diminishing those with little power to enrich the prominent, so that they may secure their own position. This is precisely “reducing what is lacking to serve what is abundant”: using the small to sustain the great, the obscure and weak to sustain the powerful and flourishing, the weak to sustain the strong, the few to sustain the many, the distressed to sustain the prosperous, and the lowly to sustain those in high positions.

The truly elevated state, however, is to occupy a high position without being controlled by others, to be abundant without being ruined, to be powerful without being broken, and to be full without being diminished; to be strong without breaking, and supple without withering; to stand alone without being controlled, and to be weak without being deprived; to be simple and unknowing without being despised, and to be empty without being possessed. Heaven and Earth protect such a person as they would their own child, and the people help him as a loving mother would. He is always accompanied by harmonizing Qi and remains ever close to the Dao. Heaven and humanity respond to one another, and the spirits watch over him. This is the way of the Perfected One.

The Perfected One never claims merit for himself, and so always has something to spare. He is connected with the Dao, sees deeply into all things, and serves the world; for this reason he is called a person who has the Dao.

In his conduct, the sage does not seek fame as his aim, but makes harmony and gentleness his chief concern. He keeps a low profile without falling into hardship, and enjoys honor without showing it off. He declines rank and yields wealth, drawing on no more strength than he needs. When the state’s resources are abundant, he does not seize them; when his own resources are plentiful, he does not force himself into others’ company. He is wary and cautious, as though something might be lost or a mistake might be made. He puts the Great Dao into practice, accords with the principle of harmony, and remains in accord with all things. He understands the constant principles of Heaven and the patterns of Earth. He completes his work without claiming merit, and lets his De spread without making it his own. This is what it means to “act without relying on oneself, and accomplish one’s work without taking possession of it.”

He avoids fame and power, settling in a deep and mysterious realm. He erases his tracks, conceals his presence, and takes stillness and emptiness as his rule. Nothing can be taken from him, and nothing can be imposed upon him. He stands apart, in accord with the Dao of Heaven. Why? Because he fears the misfortune that comes from going against the Great Dao, and does not dare flaunt his own virtue and ability. Even when his achievements surpass all others, he does not wish to display them. Not boasting of one’s virtue and ability is the conduct of the sage and the wise.

Nothing in the world is more yielding than water. Its nature is gentle and fluid, yet it can wear away and penetrate what is hard. Nothing else can do this as well, and nothing can take its place. Water overcomes what is strong and hard, even drowning all things. The yielding can overcome the forceful without being harmed. Everyone under heaven understands this, yet few can be yielding and humble.

The sage left this principle for governing the state: only one who takes on the state’s filth and disgrace can be called its ruler, the lord who oversees its ancestral temples and altars to the soil and grain. Only one who takes on the state’s disasters and misfortunes can be called the king of all under heaven. Words that follow the right way often sound like their opposite, contrary to ordinary expectations.

To resolve a deep grievance, some resentment must inevitably remain, entangling innocent people. How can that be in accord with Heaven’s will? Thus, the enlightened ruler keeps faith like one holding the left half of a contract, yet does not use it to press others with demands. This accords with the natural way. A person of De (Virtue) relies on the contract to examine himself; a person without De uses it like proof of a wheel rut, turning instead to demand payment from others. The way of Heaven shows no favoritism. It brings things into fair balance and always responds to the good.

The Great Dao, the fundamental principle of De, encompasses all things. Heaven and Earth bear all things; Yin-Yang transforms and brings forth all things; the sun and moon shine upon all things. All manner of things grow together in profusion, and their flourishing and decline, survival and extinction, all change with the times. What is hard and accumulates will eventually break down, while what is soft can prevail. This is the natural principle of all things.

Water can batter stone and pierce metal, bring down mountains and burst embankments. It flows and gathers, disperses and returns, with no fixed boundaries; it is vast without limit and continues without end. Its clarity cannot be obscured, and its force is difficult to resist. Water can turn from turbid to clear, grow from a little to much, move from danger to safety, and shift from speed to slowness. It changes with the times, as if it can die and then be born again. Water moistens all things and nurtures every form. It gives to all things without seeming to diminish, and sustains them without seeming to run dry. It flows into the four seas without claiming merit, and matches Heaven and Earth without claiming to act. It can trickle through tiny places and spread across the open fields; it moistens the heights above the sky and collects beneath the yellow earth. At its strongest, it can bear up Heaven and Earth; even when weak, it can sink a feather. Little streams gather bit by bit and eventually form rivers and seas.

Water’s course has no fixed direction upward or downward; it circulates and returns. It can advance or retreat, bend or extend, and so comes close to the Dao. This is because water’s form is yielding: in motion or at rest, it follows the moment, sets no direction in advance, and is gentle, moistening, and smooth.

Craftspeople of every kind pursue different tasks and use different methods: smelting metal and stone, splitting hard things and breaking the strong, working on minute details, making forms level and finely wrought, loosening and softening materials, blending the five flavors and washing away fishy odors, overcoming what is hard and opening what is vast. None of this can be done without water. As the saying goes: “Nothing under Heaven is softer than water, yet nothing is better at overcoming what is hard and strong.” Why is this so? Because no other thing can match water in its abilities and qualities.

Water can extinguish fire, and a grindstone can sharpen metal. Horns and teeth are easily damaged and broken, while tongues and ears are seldom harmed. By taking a low position and being willing to diminish oneself, one can subdue arrogance and violence. Like a yielding female, humbly accepting a lower place, one can dissolve even great resentment. Everyone under Heaven knows these principles; ordinary people have all heard of them. Yet they are held back by private motives, and no one truly puts them into practice.

Everyone under Heaven understands that water can overcome the strong and the soft can overcome the hard, but few put this into practice. Thus, speaking out can invite disaster, while silence can also bring harm. Advancing can become a model of wrongdoing, while yielding can also invite calamity. One may labor busily without De, toil without effect, move ever farther from the light, and remain long in darkness; great things may shrink, and survival may turn to extinction.

Therefore, when a wise ruler prepares to bear the heavy responsibility of a state, he must first make this pledge: “Only by bearing a state’s humiliation can one become its master; only by bearing a state’s calamities can one become the ruler of all under Heaven.” These are the words of the sages.

What does it mean to bear a state’s humiliation? It means eating what the people do not want to eat, wearing what they disdain, living where they do not wish to live, and taking the people’s hardships as one’s own. It means devoting oneself to following the people, with no time to think only of oneself. Then the people will rely on and love him as they would a father and mother. They will willingly submit to him, even willing to live or die alongside him. Thus, even in a poor and barren land of sand and stone, or in a remote and narrow state, he can turn humiliation into honor, preserve the ancestral inheritance, transform calamity into good fortune, and remain the people’s ruler for a long time. This is what it means to bear a state’s humiliation and thereby become its master.

What does it mean to bear a state’s ill fortune? It means enduring what the people loathe and taking on what they detest; in the face of great calamity among the people, one does not claim the credit. Even when considering the state’s destruction, one does not go against Heaven’s will; even when fearing for one’s own life, one does not harm the people’s well-being. All things between Heaven and Earth change with his movements, and people and affairs respond to him. Whether he goes east or west, north or south, wherever he arrives he can settle disorder; whatever he undertakes, he can bring people to submit. All under Heaven becomes open and united, and people look up to his teaching; none fail to receive its benefits. Thus he can correct what is perverse and chaotic and prevail wherever he goes. He can turn excessive corruption into plain, honest conduct. His merit and De are immense, and his reputation and authority reach their height. This is what it means to bear a state’s ill fortune and thereby become the ruler of all under Heaven. How is this possible? Because his mind and will are gentle and humble: he thinks little of himself and highly of the people, and accepts disgrace with composure.

Thus, words that accord with the proper Way often sound like their opposite, yet nothing can overturn them. A principle plainly near at hand can seem far away and difficult to fathom; if one searches in the most distant places, one finds nothing. The key, in fact, lies within oneself: one is extravagant yet demands simplicity of others; one is perverse yet demands that the people be upright; one causes calamity yet prays to Heaven for good fortune. Heaven and Earth give signs, but people do not see them; the spirits make their messages known, but people do not hear them.

If one abandons these fundamentals and acts only on one’s own wishes, behaving in a certain way while demanding that Heaven respond accordingly, or blaming others for one’s resentment, all under Heaven will fall into confusion. Even if the laws are clear, the punishments reliable, the charges match the facts, and rewards and punishments seem fair, they may still go against Heaven’s will. Even if the law is enforced with integrity and without bias, the people’s support may still be lost. When punishments and executions are used together, wrongdoing may increase instead; excessive rewards may also give rise to disorder. At such a time, good people may be wronged and the worthy may suffer punishment. Even if names match facts, how can this be called good governance? As the saying goes: “When great resentment is reconciled, some resentment is sure to remain.” How can that be called good?

Therefore, the sage holds fast to the warrant of the Dao and grasps the standards of De. He applies these standards to himself rather than using them to blame others. A ruler with De, before seeking to govern, first examines the Way of Heaven; before taking action, first verifies that it accords with reason. He searches for faults within himself and does not blame the people. He lays calamity at his own door and does not resent others. Thus, the sage holds the tally, a document used in ancient times to confirm a debt, but does not use it to demand payment from others.

In this way, right and wrong are naturally decided, and black and white become clear of themselves. Before he acts, all under Heaven has already responded; before he gives an order, all things have already fallen into line. This is what it means for a person of De to hold the tally. A person without De cares only to satisfy his own desires and gives no thought to the people. When government falls into disorder and calamities arise, he does not reflect on himself but singles out the people’s faults and disciplines them with harsh punishments. The people suffer punishment, every household bears a charge, resentment spreads everywhere, and Heaven’s will is unsettled. The state falls into turmoil, and later generations suffer calamity. This is what it means for a person without De to pursue faults and hold others to account.

The Way of Heaven and Earth and human conduct move together. They favor no one, nor do they deliberately keep anyone at a distance. They make no distinction between intimacy and estrangement, but respond to one another like an echo following a sound or a shadow following a form. The Way of Heaven and Earth is neither perverse nor ingratiating; it remains upright and constant. To do evil is to go against the Way of Heaven; to do good is to accord with it. The yielding person accords with the Dao, and the person who practices Wuwei (non-action, following nature without forcing things) is also in harmony with it. The Way of Heaven is impartial, yet it often looks after the good. These words are indeed true.

The state is small and its population is sparse. Even when people possess many tools and stores of wealth, they do not use them, but continue to live simply. The people cherish life, each finding their place; they do not travel far or migrate, but dwell peacefully in their own communities. Though there are boats and carts and household goods are plentiful, no one needs to ride in them, for the people are simple and do not prize luxury. Though armor and weapons are stored in the warehouses, there is no occasion to display them, because the state is well governed and all under Heaven is at peace. People keep records by tying knots, using knotted cords in place of writing, and return to the simplicity of ancient times.

The people find their own food delicious and do not seek a variety of flavors. They find their own clothes beautiful and do not seek bright colors or finery. They cherish local customs and live in accord with the natural Way. Content with their homes, they preserve and maintain their way of life. Neighboring states can see one another, yet each remains settled in its own territory. The crowing of roosters and barking of dogs can be heard across their borders, showing that the people live in peace and order. They live out their natural span of years without visiting one another, and few form friendships.

The Zhigui explains: States may be large or small, their lands may be rugged or level, and their populations may be numerous or sparse. The people dwell peacefully and preserve their way of life; neighboring states each remain in their own territory, and the crowing of roosters and barking of dogs can be heard across their borders. The people live until the end of their natural span without visiting one another, and few form friendships.

States vary in size; their terrain may be rugged or level, their populations large or small, and their resources abundant or scarce. Some lands lie high, others low; roads may be near or far, and power and authority may be strong or weak, weighty or slight. The strong prevail over the weak, level ground overcomes rugged ground, abundance prevails over poverty, and many people prevail over few. High ground prevails over low, nearness over distance, strength over weakness, and weighty authority over slight authority. These are the ordinary ways of things.

Yet strength and weakness depend on the generals, security and danger on the ministers, gain and loss on the ruler, and a state’s survival on whether it accords with the Dao. Heaven’s Way has no fixed preference, and the people’s hearts do not belong forever to any one place. When a ruler has De, people rally to him; when he lacks De, they turn away. This is the natural order.

Thus, a vast territory, a large population, brave generals, and an imposing ruler are not enough to ensure strength. Nor are sturdy armor, well-trained soldiers, towering walls, and deep moats enough to guarantee security. Quick speech, keen observation, pleasing but empty words, and flattery and compliance do not suffice to win people’s affection. Ceding land, offering treasures, forming alliances, and expanding one’s circle of supporters cannot guarantee a state’s safety. Only a person who follows the Dao can govern all things without forcing them. With deep De and far-reaching benevolence, such a person prevails wherever he goes and can turn the small into the great, the weak into the strong, the slight into the weighty, and the few into the many. Thus, a state governed by a noble person can endure even when small; a state governed by a petty person will perish even when large.

A ruler of a small state has little land and few people, and neither his De nor his authority carries much weight. The other lords will not deal with him, and he has no strict laws to keep people in check. He lacks hills and rugged passes, rivers and natural barriers, as well as the close support of neighboring states. He stands isolated among great powers. His land is barren and not worth seizing; his treasures are too meager to offer as gifts. His ministers will not pledge themselves to him, and his people are quick to leave, while neighboring states keep making demands. His state is as insecure as a piled stack of eggs, with none of the stability of a rock or a mountain. Yet attacking it may not count as tyranny, and showing it kindness may not count as great benevolence. A small state, then, can be the hinge between ruin and survival, and between danger and security. With few people, it can easily fall into peril and defeat, so it must follow the Dao, remain humble, and guard itself; in this way its strength can gradually become firm. This is what is meant by “the hinge between ruin and survival, and between danger and security.”

A sage ruler who follows the Dao can govern a small state and turn disaster into good fortune, danger into security. He makes the people prosperous: they have boats and carts, plentiful weapons, useful tools, ample food and clothing, abundant cattle and horses, and well-stocked reserves. Their goods exceed those of neighboring states tenfold or a hundredfold, and this steadies the people’s hearts. Yet the ruler does not act rashly on the strength of his abilities, or flaunt what he knows. He does not make a show of fine flavors or adorn the kitchen. He leads by example, restraining his desires and living simply: first he works, then he eats; first he labors, then he rests. In hot weather he wears light clothing; in the cold he adds a layer. He seeks comfort and a proper fit, not finery, and puts practical needs before the pleasures of the palate. Taxes are light, the people’s burdens few, and they have energy to spare. The roots of seizure and plunder are cut off, and the pursuit of profit subsides. The people become honest and sincere, valuing thrift, loyalty, and material security. They possess goods yet seem not to claim ownership of them; they have abilities yet do not show off their strength. In this way, a ruler who follows the Dao can have a small state with few people, yet provide ten or a hundred times the necessary goods without indulging in excess.

How does this come about? The ruler establishes the state through the Dao and sustains it through De. He and the people share hardships, comforts, dangers, and security. He handles affairs with an even mind and keeps government in balance. When he listens to opinions, he attends to what is practical, and steadies people’s hearts with respectful, humble, reasonable words. Through discernment and De, he corrects the distortions in social customs. Neighboring states are left undisturbed, and the people are united in harmony. They enjoy their lives and their long years, and they dislike theft.

At such a time, even without the sounds of bells, drums, and music, the people feel their lives are abundant. They live in harmony with one another, and ruler and ministers work well together. People live and work in peace; they would rather die in a mountain cave than leave their homeland. Even if moving elsewhere could bring them a hundredfold gain, they would not leave their state. This is how to make people cherish life and keep them from traveling far away.

A household may have boats and carts, yet no need to travel; it may have weapons, yet no need to use force. Why is this so? Because the generals and ministers are wise, the ruler follows the Dao, and the people devote themselves to farming and weaving, treating the accumulation of wealth as a good thing. Those above prize simplicity and esteem gentleness and humility; they honor loyalty, care, and trustworthiness, value labor, and look down on scheming and deceit. The laws are clear and customs settled, and people above and below preserve one another. The people obey without being ordered, and enemies are afraid without a battle being fought. Those who seek profit dare not gamble on a risky victory, and those who pursue fame dare not scheme for undeserved merit. The state is peaceful and undisturbed, and the people are not unsettled. They cast aside cleverness and deceit and return to the simple ways of antiquity.

People keep records by tying knots and speak about affairs with plain sincerity. They simplify tools and ceremonies, speak little, desire little, and each follows nature and is content with their place. This is what is meant by “returning to the life of knot tying.” The people eat vegetables and soup made from pigweed, yet find the simple food tasty. They wear cloth garments and rough hides, yet find them natural and fitting. They find their own food delicious and their own clothes beautiful. They live contentedly in narrow, rugged places and regard hardship in remote, impoverished regions as a substantial way of life. They are content with local customs, adapt to the land and its waters, take pleasure in their customs, and feel at home where they live.

When the Dao flourishes and De runs deep, the people live in harmony with one another and care for widowers and widows. Neighboring communities are connected, yet each preserves its own way of life. Neighboring states can see one another, and the sounds of chickens and dogs carry between them. When people climb the hills to gather firewood and vegetables, they can see one another in the distance; when they bathe together in streams and rivers, they are in fact close by. Yet rulers and ministers do not entangle themselves with one another, and men and women do not gather together. Each knows contentment and keeps to proper bounds. From birth to old age, and until death, people have no dealings with one another unless the ruler commands it. They have no dealings with one another even into old age and death because they have reached Wuwei (non-action) and have no excessive desires.

Trustworthy words are often plain. They may sound bitter, yet they are direct and sincere. Elegant words are often untrustworthy. Though they may sound pleasing, they may be no more than sweet talk meant to deceive. The truly wise do not chase broad and scattered learning; they return to what is fundamental. Those who seek knowledge without restraint do not necessarily grasp the essentials and are often merely busy with many details. Kind people do not rely on words to win arguments. They are simple, quiet, generous, and sincere. Those skilled in argument are not necessarily truly kind; they are often merely adept at polishing their words.

Thus, the sage does not hoard private possessions, for he understands the Dao. He puts the Dao into practice for others, and in doing so becomes all the more fulfilled and understands it more deeply. He passes the Dao on to others, and its reach grows wider. The less the sage accumulates for himself, the more clearly the Dao shines forth; the more he shares the Dao with others, the more he gains himself. The Dao of Heaven embraces both Yin and Yang. It nurtures all things without harming them and works to help them grow. The sage’s way of acting avoids conspicuous honor: he gets things done without contending for fame.

Emptiness and fullness depend on one another; being and nonbeing give rise to each other. Cold opposes heat, while light accompanies darkness. As Yin Qi wanes, Yang Qi grows; as Yang Qi grows, Yin Qi wanes in turn. When the root flourishes, the branches wither; when the branches wither, the root weakens as well. These are the patterns by which Heaven and Earth move, change, and turn.

These patterns are a path to clear understanding and a measure for distinguishing truth from pretense, and for weighing doubt and error. Follow the root, cultivate emptiness and stillness, take one’s inborn nature as a guide, and test things against the natural Way. Grasp the essentials to investigate how things work, and draw together what is complex: then one can know the distant from the near, see the reverse from the direct, discern the reality behind a name, infer an ending from a beginning, and judge gain and loss from sounds and outward signs. In this way, the principles of human affairs a thousand years apart can confirm one another, and people in every age can follow the same underlying truths. One can see the inmost intent of Heaven and Earth and infer the purposes of spirits and gods—how much more, then, can one understand human affairs? This is an enduring principle of the world, one that everyone can grasp.

The human heart holds the natural Way. It understands human feelings and the order of things, takes its bearing from the root of creation, and knows the patterns by which things differ and change. Thus, even blunt words can strike home, and even plain expression can accord with De. This is called trustworthiness. The enduring principles of the world are within everyone’s reach.

Those below depend on those above, and those above also draw support from those below. Trustworthiness is the source of strength and the starting point for establishing authority. It is also the foundation of the people’s willingness to give support, of success in one’s undertakings, of power being put into effect, and of a name being established.

The nature of the Dao is plain and without flavor, so honest words are often unpleasing to hear. Yet through them things are accomplished and principles made clear. Thus, when one person proposes, a thousand respond; when one person acts, ten thousand follow. Even when people are called upon to defeat a powerful enemy, break through a tight encirclement, risk fire and water on the battlefield, or stand firm in the face of death, the people do not resent them. All this comes from trustworthiness. Honest words may not please the ear, yet they have this effect. Sweet talk and inflated claims may draw praise from everyone, who calls them wonderful; this is untrustworthiness. What is untrustworthiness? To make a promise and fail to keep it. Once a person loses trustworthiness, they cannot establish goodwill or put authority into effect. Their power goes unrecognized, their reputation cannot be established, rewards cannot secure obedience, and punishments cannot prevent wrongdoing.

Therefore, if those above and below cannot rely on one another, nothing gets done. A person may hold an exalted position yet have no real authority, or sit at the top and still lack the people’s support. In the end, they are isolated and helpless; the state is unsettled; the good things the people hope for do not come, while everyone instead suffers punishment. This is the result of fine words without trustworthiness. Sweet words without substance cannot be trusted, however pleasing they sound.

Return to the root and cast aside the branches, trifles, and ornamentation; trace things back to their first source. Let a few fundamental principles govern the many, use one principle to meet myriad changes, and handle complexity with simple methods. Devote yourself to holding fast to the pure and single Way. This is called “knowing little.” When one’s knowledge is not scattered, one can be wise. The truly wise do not make extensive learning their aim. What is wisdom? It is understanding human affairs and grasping the Way of the spirits. Wisdom is a means of preserving oneself and governing the state; it is what those above rely on and those below turn to. It guides people in following the constant principles of Heaven and finding their way along the Dao.

Wisdom therefore gathers up the great principles of safety and danger and grasps the key to order and disorder. It enables the learned throughout the world to serve with loyalty and commitment, each carrying out their duties and acting for the common good. In this way, the ruler is made secure, authority is put into effect, and prestige and De are made manifest. This is the power of wisdom. Though the wise may not have broad knowledge, they can accomplish all this. As the saying goes: grasp the One, and all things become connected.

When the mind entertains countless thoughts, the eyes peer into worldly affairs, desires have no limit, and ministers go their separate ways, this is called “knowing much.” Knowing much can make one lose wisdom. What is the lack of wisdom? It is doubting the Way of Heaven and being uncertain about human affairs. Such a person may seem able to enjoy everything, yet their mind is crowded with thoughts and their desires are strong. They are driven by both aversion and weariness, and so are easily enticed by profit and threatened by death. They act impulsively when confronted with novelty, yet shrink from danger. Confused by things, they change course deceitfully with the times, turn away from the open Way, and eventually fall into difficulty. Their actions are always close to trouble, and even in stillness they are near disaster. The ancestral temple is imperiled, and the people scatter. This is the result of knowing much without wisdom.

To be well informed in every direction, widely learned, yet appear generous and unhurried, with slow speech: this is called “not being skilled in argument.” Work quietly and earn trust through steady action, and good conduct will follow. Good conduct does not depend on clever argument, and so it can be realized. What is good conduct? It is to act in accord with the Way of Heaven and remain at rest in a way suited to the Earth; to speak without obstruction and to be unhindered in silence. This is goodness.

Goodness is the foundation on which the noble person stands and the foremost of all virtues. It accords with good fortune, brings blessings in abundance, flows without end, and can be put to use without being exhausted. It does not change with successive rulers or changing customs. Heaven and Earth lend it their strength, and the spirits protect it. It follows the Way of Heaven above and human feeling below; it serves as the foundation of governance, allowing all things to find their proper order and all living beings to receive what sustains them. The people of the world hold it in reverence, and it passes from age to age without end. This is goodness. It does not depend on eloquence, yet it has this effect.

To speak recklessly of Heaven and Earth, humanity, and spirits and gods without knowing the beginnings of things or seeing their roots; to change one’s words and distort their meaning—this is called “argument.” When suspicion takes hold and a person acts on private whim, prizes fine words, and adorns themselves with them, unwholesomeness follows. The skilled arguer often cannot bring about goodness. What is unwholesomeness? It is to act against the Way of Heaven and remain at rest in violation of what suits the Earth; to speak in ways that harm people and things, and in silence secretly damage spirits and gods. This is unwholesomeness.

Those who act without goodness split the Dao from De, scatter what is simple and thin what is wholesome. They alter their phrasing and decorate themselves with the names of benevolence and righteousness; they marshal objects and omens as proof, dragging Heaven and Earth into their arguments. They attach themselves to the powerful and curry favor with whatever the world esteems. They reverse the true meaning of things and evade facts and responsibility, using an outward show of stillness to deceive others and inventing doubts from nothing. They discard uprightness and promote falsehood, devoting themselves to flattering the ruler. With polished words they please those above, and they form factions to cater to the ruler’s wishes. They let crafty ways flourish while blocking the advice of loyal and upright people. Through flattery and compliance, they manipulate the power of the state, encourage rebellion, and nurture great treachery. As a result, people throughout the world concern themselves only with verbal contests; the age grows murky, the ruler becomes confused, and loyal counsel is suppressed. The state is thereby led toward ruin. This is the harm caused by clever argument.

Therefore, the sage treats the beginnings of trouble with care and cuts them off before they take hold. The sage removes clever argument and contrivance, casts aside ornamental language, and maintains emptiness, stillness, gentleness, humility, deep silence, and plain sincerity. The sage gathers in cleverness and conceals good conduct, guiding all things by the natural Way. Right and wrong, black and white, are as clear as the sun and moon; difference and likeness, truth and falsehood, are as distinct as Heaven and Earth. The mind remains empty, storing no fixed opinions, and responds as all things change. This is how the sage keeps no private interests in reserve.

The sage responds through Wuwei and moves with the way things naturally unfold. The sage nurtures all things without seeking fullness, gives to all things without being depleted, and embraces the four directions. Even those who are widely learned may think deeply without seeing things clearly; even skilled arguers may consider what lies far ahead and still fail to hear how matters began. The sage’s giving does not run dry, and change has no end: when one cycle ends, another begins. The sage’s radiance appears, instead, like darkness.

The more the sage helps others, the more complete the sage becomes; the more the sage governs others, the clearer the sage becomes; the more the sage nurtures others, the longer the sage endures; the more the sage teaches others, the more the sage gains. As the saying goes: the more one does for others, the more one has; the more one gives to others, the more abundant one becomes.

There is Yang, and there is Yin; within Yin, Yang turns forth again. This is how the Way of Heaven operates. The Way of Heaven benefits all things without harming them. The sage, too, follows Heaven and Earth, growing together with all things without destroying them. The sage establishes De and spreads blessings widely, dwelling for a long time in eminence and glory, yet declines the fortune gained through clever manipulation and lets achievement and renown return to namelessness. The sage acts without claiming credit, moving together with the Dao. Heaven and humanity are different, yet their purpose in benefiting all things is the same. Follow the Way of Heaven, and one accords with the Dao without obstruction.

This concludes Volume Thirteen of The Commentary on the True Scripture of the Dao and Its Virtue. The textual notes state: the character “zhe” in “breaking the liver” originally read “xi,” but has been changed on the basis of the Yilan edition; the character “li” in “the principle and pattern are inevitable” was originally missing and has been supplied on the basis of the Yilan edition; the character “he” in “the people live in harmony” originally read “zhi,” but has been changed on the basis of the Secret Book edition; and the character “shan” in “thus it can bring about goodness” originally read “xi,” but has been changed on the basis of the Yilan edition.

The Chapter “The Dao That Can Be Spoken”

The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant, unchanging Dao that words can never fully express. The name that can be used to designate something is not the constant, unchanging name that can never be fully applied. “Nameless” describes the state at the beginning of Heaven and Earth; “having a name” is the source from which the myriad things come into being. Thus, remaining in a state of desirelessness allows one to observe the Dao’s subtlety, while remaining in a state of desire allows one to observe the boundaries and traces that appear among the myriad things. Desirelessness and desire both arise from the same source; they differ only in name, and both may be called profound. Within the profound lies something still more profound: the gateway to all subtle transformations.

Dao and De are supreme. Next comes the spirits and their wondrous powers; then the Great Harmony, the fundamental state of harmony among Heaven, Earth, and all things; then Heaven and Earth; then Yin-Yang; and finally the Great Sage, the person of the highest virtue.

Dao and De can be discussed in words, but cannot be fully understood through inquiry. The spirits and their wondrous powers can be nurtured, but cannot be fully brought into play. The Great Harmony can be experienced, but cannot be altered by human effort. Heaven and Earth can be followed in one’s actions, but cannot be fully expressed in words. Yin-Yang can be put to use, but is difficult to teach. The Great Sage can be revered, but cannot be summed up in words. Thus, what can be measured and counted is limited; knowledge reaches only the surface; and the results people can achieve through their actions are likewise limited. However great the number, there are things that cannot be counted; however vast the thing, there are limits that cannot be measured. Intellectual power cannot exhaust the subtle principles of things; human effort alone cannot attain perfection; and the disorders and calamities between Heaven and Earth cannot be eliminated merely by managing particular affairs. Therefore, the Dao and De that need no deliberate display are the foundation of governance; a reputation that bears no title, and achievements claimed by no one, are the roots of moral teaching.

Thus, once a ruler takes action, people throughout the world develop desires. They abandon simplicity and honesty, and clear moral teaching gradually becomes clouded. The ruler opens the people’s ears and eyes, setting them in pursuit of sounds and sights; nourishes them with the Five Flavors; wins their favor with fame and virtue; teaches them benevolence and righteousness; and guides them with ritual propriety. The people are like sleepers waking and leaving a darkened room to climb to a height and gaze in every direction, looking up at the stars and seeing the sun and moon. In this way, moral teaching becomes something that can be put into words, and thereby grows clouded. The ruler then opens the people’s ears and eyes again, showing them …⁨

Use sights and sounds to attract people, and the Five Flavors to nourish them. Then use talk of merit and virtue to guide them, teach them through the principles of benevolence and righteousness, and regulate their conduct with ritual propriety. The people seem to awaken from sleep, leave their dark houses, climb the hills, and look out in every direction. They raise their eyes to the stars and see the sun and moon. Then teachings can be proclaimed, virtues listed, achievements recounted, and categories distinguished.

Once wisdom scatters, deceit and falsity arise in its wake. When Dao and De are obscured, the spirits are cut off. All manner of calamities gradually take root, and the Qi of Great Harmony dissipates. People throughout the world grow troubled and unsettled, rushing into disputes over right and wrong and losing their measure of accord with nature. Desires shift and stir all things in confusion. People become haggard and gaunt, their faces darkened, burdened with worries. They cannot feel at ease in life or take pleasure in their own customs, and they shorten their allotted years. These are the harms caused by tyranny.

Thus rulers and ministers are wary of one another and live in restless confusion; fathers and sons cling anxiously to one another, unable to part; brothers worry over one another in sorrow and grief. The people live in fear and resentment, suspecting and bearing grudges against one another, sometimes dying in the blink of an eye. All these are calamities. The attachment between fathers and sons and the grief between brothers, attending to elders as they retire at night and visiting them in the morning, taking leave when going out and paying respects upon returning home—all these, too, can drain away one’s life before its time. When ministers meet the ruler, their faces show alarm and dismay. They hurry forward and bow forcefully, hunching their shoulders and drawing in their elbows, kowtowing and crawling on their knees to show reverence for their superior. This only shows that they are not close to one another.

Therefore, the “Dao” that can be put into words is Dao and De made manifest; it is not the natural and original state. A name that can be proclaimed is one that makes achievements and reputation known; it is not unadorned reality.

A name does not make something the Dao, and the absence of a name does not make it the Dao. Acting does not make something the Dao, and not acting does not make it the Dao. The Dao itself has no name, yet there is nothing it cannot name. The Dao itself does not act, yet there is nothing it cannot bring to completion.

The Dao has neither name nor form and is joined with the wondrous body. All things under Heaven depend on it, yet do not know why. It transforms within the void and becomes the beginning of Heaven and Earth.

Things that have names and forms can change because they follow the Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power), honor the spirits, and take Great Harmony as their teacher. In this way, Heaven and Earth are formed, becoming the matrix of all things.

Those without desire do not long for what ordinary people long for. Those who observe the mysteries of things can reach the realm of Supreme Clarity, the Daoist state of purity and transcendence.

Those whose resolve is as firm as metal and stone, whose bodies are as still as withered trees, who dwell quietly without seeking attention, and whose aspirations are as simple as those of a young horse or calf are people without desire. This is the foundation for returning to one’s original nature. By contrast, those with desire covet external things. They lose the broad, level Dao and see only narrow boundaries; once lost, they do not know how to return, and ultimately they lose their original, authentic Qi (vital energy).

The Chapter on All Under Heaven Knowing What Is Beautiful

When people everywhere know what is beautiful, the idea of ugliness appears in relation to it. When people everywhere know what is good, the idea of what is not good appears in relation to it. Thus being and nonbeing give rise to each other; difficulty and ease bring each other about; long and short become apparent through comparison; high and low depend on each other; tone and sound respond to each other; and before and after follow one another.

Therefore, the sage attends to affairs through Wuwei (non-action) and teaches without words. When all things arise and develop, the sage does not interfere. The sage nurtures all things without claiming them, acts without relying on personal ability, and completes tasks without taking credit. Because the sage takes no credit, their achievements do not disappear.

A person’s intelligence and talent can be restrained or brought to an end, but they must not be allowed to scatter without direction. Human desires and passions can be reversed and controlled, but they must not be indulged unchecked. Deliberately embellishing a person’s appearance damages their nature; indulging their desires harms their life. What people in the world consider beautiful and good does not embody the highest beauty and goodness. True beauty is beyond what people can see, and true goodness is beyond what they can recognize.

Without “Nothing,” “Something” cannot become apparent; only when there is “Something” does the form of “Nothing” emerge. Difficulty appears through ease, and ease is made clear through difficulty. The inch seems short in relation to the foot, and the foot seems long in relation to the inch. Mountains stand out as high because of valleys, and valleys appear low and deep because of mountains. Tones distinguish one another through sound, while tones give sound its pauses and rhythm. The later is apparent in contrast with the earlier, and the earlier makes the later intelligible.

Thus, without “Nothing,” “Something” cannot be seen; without “Something,” “Nothing” cannot be understood. Without difficulty, ease cannot be known; without ease, difficulty cannot be known. Length and shortness, mountains and valleys, sound and tone, earlier and later—all are likewise made clear through their mutual contrast. These phenomena are clear evidence of the workings of Heaven and Earth and signs of the laws of nature. They appear side by side, follow one another, and cycle without end; they cannot be separated. Even the spirits cannot free them from this relationship, and Yin-Yang cannot go against it. From this, we can see that rulers governing the world should not impose their will through deliberate action.

(9) What is bright and shining cannot remain so for long, and what is hidden in darkness will not remain so forever. Lush plants and trees begin to grow in mid-spring; plants with stronger Yang energy, such as shepherd’s purse and wheat, sprout at the autumn equinox. At the winter solstice, all things gradually flourish; at the summer solstice, they show signs of decline. This means that things wax and wane as the seasons change, and no condition can remain constant.

(10) Only those who are never content to rest on their laurels and continually cultivate their De can forget their achievements and yet preserve them. Thus they do not claim their accomplishments as their own, and their work does not perish. Their transformations accord with the Dao, and they do not seek recognition for their merits; their De is equal to Heaven, and they seek no reward. They avoid fame and status, remaining deeply hidden within the mysterious realm of the Dao. Precisely because they do not seek to possess their accomplishments, those accomplishments endure.

On Not Esteeming the Worthy

When the so-called worthy are not held in high regard, the people will not compete with one another. When rare and valuable goods are not prized, the people will not steal. When things that stir up desire are not displayed, the people’s hearts will not be disturbed. Therefore, when the sage governs the world, the people’s minds should be kept simple and their food and clothing sufficient. Their desire to outdo and surpass one another should be weakened, while their bodies are strengthened. The people should be kept free of cunning and excessive desire, so that even those who consider themselves clever will not dare to act recklessly. Govern through Wuwei, and nothing in the world will remain ungoverned.

(11) When people esteem ritual and righteousness, this gives rise to contention. If someone fails to meet their standards, they often resort to deceit.

(12) Those of profound De can occupy the position of ruler; those with shallow and inferior De can only serve as subjects. The worthy are not found everywhere, and sages do not appear in every age.

(Thirteen) Set a poor horse and a fine horse side by side on a level road, and let a swan and a quail spread their wings together in the high sky. Then it becomes easy to see who is capable and who is mediocre.

(Fourteen) Hide jewels and fine jade, and people will still desire them. If their desire goes unsatisfied, they may steal. If things such as “the Three and Five” are praised until everyone delights in them, and that delight has no restraint, perversity and disorder will arise.

(Fifteen) If the world does not honor the capable, the people will not ceaselessly pursue rank and status. If they do not pursue them, they will not compete; if their desires go unsatisfied, they may steal. If things such as “the Three and Five” are praised until everyone delights in them, and that delight has no restraint, perversity and disorder will arise.

(Fifteen) If the world does not honor the capable, the people will not pursue rank and status. If they do not pursue them, they will not compete; if they do not compete, they will not rebel. If the world does not prize material goods, the people will not covet them. If they do not covet them, they will not seek them out; if they do not seek them out, they will not steal. If the world does not praise things such as “the Three and Five,” the people will not feel excessive delight. Without delight, there is no indulgence; without indulgence, there is no debauchery. This is the natural course of things.

(Sixteen) Make the mind empty and still, and settle the breath. Gather the spirit into unity, so that Shen and Qi may accumulate. Remain quiet and do not act recklessly; be detached and tranquil, and do not govern by deliberate effort.

(Seventeen) Without using rank and emoluments to encourage them, people will naturally develop filial devotion and compassion; without using punishments to forbid wrongdoing, deceitful and wicked acts will cease of their own accord. Return to simplicity and go back to the beginning. The ruler of the world follows Wuwei (non-action), and Heaven, Earth, and humanity blend together. People roam freely in the natural world; all things find their proper place and move along their own course, and the world is well governed.

The Chapter “The Dao Is Empty”

The Dao is empty in its substance, yet its use seems never to run dry. It is so deep and far-reaching that it seems to be the source of all things. Blunt its sharpness, untangle its knots, harmonize all things with one another, and let each find its proper order.

The body of the Dao is empty, so its workings seem inexhaustible. It is deep and boundless, as though it were the source of all things. It draws in its sharpness, dispels confusion, tempers its radiance, and mingles with the world. It is profound and subtle, seeming to exist yet remaining hard to grasp. I do not know whose descendant it is; I only know that its form seems to predate the Heavenly Emperor.

(18) Because the Dao is utterly empty, its movement can reach a state of profound openness. Because De is rooted in Wuwei (non-action), its movement can reach a state of profound harmony. Through the workings of Dao and De, all things can attain openness and harmony. The workings of Dao and De are wondrous, unfathomable, and constant; Heaven and Earth follow them, and Yin-Yang relies on them.

(19) Those who truly attain openness do not deliberately seek it; those who truly attain harmony do not deliberately seek that either. Only by refraining from contriving openness and harmony can one truly attain them. Openness takes emptiness as its dwelling, while harmony returns to Wuwei. When one is both empty and nonacting, openness is more than ample; when one is both nonacting and empty, harmony is ever present.

(20) Hold aspirations in your heart without showing your sharpness; have ideas in mind without becoming attached to thought. Put into practice arrangements that are not deliberately devised, and plan without deliberately drawing up plans.

Heaven and Earth Are Not Benevolent

Heaven and Earth show no partiality: they treat all things like straw dogs used in sacrifice and then discarded. The sage shows no partiality: the people, too, are like straw dogs. Is not the space between Heaven and Earth like a bellows? Empty, yet never exhausted; the more it moves, the more breath it releases. Too many words often lead to difficulty. Better to hold to emptiness, stillness, and balance.

(21) The sky is lofty, distant, clear, and bright; the earth is deep, solid, and still. Yin and Yang Qi mingle with one another, and harmonious Qi circulates and flows. When Heaven and Earth are tranquil and practice Wuwei (non-action), all things grow naturally. They do not deliberately change their intentions, exhaust their spirit, and bustle about making things happen. Nor do they sorrowfully and earnestly impose care and benefit, spreading favor far and wide, in order for all things to grow and mature.

Wise and enlightened rulers follow the Great Dao and uphold harmony. Remaining calm and unchanged, they respond to change through principles that endure. Their spiritual virtue works silently, in accord with the laws of the Dao, and so all under Heaven responds to them and the myriad things transform and flourish naturally. Sages do not exhaust their wisdom and abilities, disturb their minds, deplete their spirit, and think without pause, busily putting benevolence into practice, managing affairs, and seeking gain in order to govern the people.

(22) If Heaven and Earth abandon emptiness, stillness, and Wuwei, and instead bustle about showing care and dispensing benefits, change cannot proceed smoothly, and the myriad things cannot grow fully. If sages abandon emptiness, stillness, and Wuwei, and instead bustle about showing care and dispensing benefits, their virtue cannot reach everywhere, all under Heaven cannot return to harmony, their kindness cannot penetrate to the depths, and affairs cannot all be brought to completion.

Why is this so? If care and favor are made the means of governing, what they can accomplish is ultimately limited. Yet the need of all kinds of beings for guidance and transformation has no end. To meet an endless need with a limited means is like trying to fill a river with tears after it has dried up: in the end, there is not enough to supply it.

(23) When lice crawl among the hairs, a person cannot sleep peacefully. When mosquitoes bite the skin, the mind grows agitated and thought becomes muddled. If one is wounded from outside by venomous creatures such as bees and scorpions, intense pain arises within. Even if the eyes and ears are unharmed, the whole body is consequently unable to move freely.

Heaven and Earth do not speak because they are empty, still, and Wuwei (non-action). They can accommodate all things appropriately, allowing them to grow without cease. The sage, too, does not speak at length. The laws he establishes are open and lenient, in keeping with the nature of all things. The punishments imposed by Heaven and the prisons on Earth stand empty; no prohibitions bind the people. Spirits remain still and do not act recklessly. The world is broad and peaceful. Free from burdensome instruction and coercive interference, society is naturally well governed. (“Heaven’s prison” refers to punishments established by the Dao of Heaven; “spirits” refers to the divine beings of traditional belief.)

Once words are spoken, trouble may follow; when words are ill-judged, they can bring ruin. The world is broad and peaceful. Free from burdensome instruction and coercive interference, society is naturally well governed.

“On the Valley Spirit That Never Dies”: The Valley Spirit does not perish; this is called the “Mysterious Female,” the hidden source that gives birth to and nourishes all things. The gateway of the Mysterious Female is the root of Heaven and Earth. It endures without end, seeming almost to exist; when it acts, it does so without effort.

The wondrous Qi of Great Harmony, harmonious and subtle primordial energy, transforms all things in ways beyond understanding. It dwells in emptiness and abides in stillness and detachment. It enters and departs without openings, and moves to and fro without interval. When it stirs, all things go smoothly; when it rests, all things are brought to completion. It changes without cease, yet does not itself change; it continually brings forth all things, yet does not appear as any particular creature.

“Female” refers to the feminine, gentle and capable of giving birth; “mysterious” refers to what is hidden and ancient, beyond sight. It gives birth to and nourishes all things like a mother, yet no one can see its form.

The Qi of Great Harmony enables all things to grow without end. It begins without reaching an end; it opens and guides the spirits, and is the root of Heaven and Earth.

(29) The movement and stillness of the Dao are wondrous and unfathomable. It seems to disappear, yet also seems to be present. It brings the myriad things into being and enables affairs to reach completion; it is everywhere. Its brightness never goes out, and its workings never grow weary. This is because it takes “not-being-born” as its life and the formless as its substance.

The Chapter on Heaven and Earth Enduring

Heaven and earth endure. They can endure because they do not seek to preserve their own lives; for this reason, they exist for a long time. Thus the sage puts himself last and comes to stand at the front; he sets himself aside and thereby preserves himself. Is this not because he has no private interests? For this reason, he is able to fulfill himself.

(30) The sage’s authority resounds throughout the four quarters. He is wise and discerning, and understands all things. He entrusts his thoughts to desirelessness and leaves his plans to Wuwei (non-action). He humbles himself to honor the Way of Heaven and takes his place behind others to bring them peace. Thus, without deliberately acting, he can accomplish things; without saying much, he wins people’s trust. People willingly choose him as their leader.

Therefore, the sage places himself behind the people and follows the Way of Heaven. He makes no plans for himself, but brings peace to others. He humbles himself to honor the Way of Heaven and takes his place behind others to bring them peace. Thus, through Wuwei, he accomplishes things; without speaking, he wins people’s trust, and people willingly choose him as their leader. He places himself behind the people and follows the Way of Heaven; he sets himself aside to bring others peace. His achievements are vast beyond measure, yet he does not display them. His De (Virtue/Power) is lofty and deep as a canopy, yet he does not flaunt it. His teaching flows freely and pervasively, like the workings of the spirits. His life endures as long as mountains and rivers, and so he remains long-lasting.

The Chapter on the Highest Good Being Like Water

The highest good is like water. Water is skilled at nourishing the myriad things, yet it does not contend with them. It dwells in low places that people all dislike, and so it is closest to the Dao (the Way). In choosing where to dwell, it favors low ground; in its heart, it favors depth; in relating to others, it favors kindness; in speaking, it favors trustworthiness; in governing, it favors order; in its work, it favors ability; in its actions, it favors the right moment. Precisely because it does not contend, it has no faults.

A person should be gentle and humble, never vying for the highest place. Like the earth, they should bear humiliation; like the sea, they should accept what is unclean. Their words should accord with what people feel, and they should always place themselves behind others. They can remain at ease even in circumstances others find disagreeable, their mind calm and free of self, adapting to change without clinging and advancing or withdrawing with the movement of the Dao (the Way). Nothing embodies letting go of oneself and following nature better than water. If an emperor could model his conduct on the qualities of water and govern the state accordingly, his De (Virtue/Power) would be subtle and profound. What, then, would there be to worry about?

Chapter: Holding and Filling

When holding a vessel, it is better to stop before trying to fill it to the brim. Sharpen a blade too keenly, and it will not stay sharp for long. No one can keep a hall filled with gold and jade forever. Arrogance after attaining wealth and rank only brings calamity upon oneself. When a task is complete, one should step back; this is the natural course.

(32) To disrupt the people in pursuit of the moment’s advantage and material wealth is to accumulate more possessions while draining one’s spirit. A hoard of wealth can invite calamity; better to stop before it is full.

(33) One disciplines the will and strives ambitiously, devises strategies, and uses one’s talents to gain high rank, fame, and promotion. Yet this dissipates the spirit. How can such gains be kept for long?

(34) To me, wealth and status are like climbing a mountain to gaze into the distance: in the end, they are only temporary circumstances. Fame and power are like a flash of lightning: in an instant, they vanish.

(Thirty-Five) Gold and jade can harm the body; fame and power can harm the spirit. The two are like ice and charcoal: they cannot both be preserved for long. Fame is therefore a stain on the spirit, and wealth is a calamity for the body. Using the spirit to pursue fame and profit accumulates harm to the body. It means damaging one’s existing strengths and nurturing one’s weaknesses. If one regards gaining fame and profit as a benefit and losing them as a misfortune, one’s thoughts become confused and one’s judgments of what to accept or reject are turned upside down.

(Thirty-Six) Increasing one’s wealth harms the spirit; gaining fame endangers the body. Misfortune is brought upon oneself, not by others; blessings are cultivated by oneself, not bestowed by Heaven.

(Thirty-Six) Increasing one’s wealth harms the spirit; gaining fame endangers the body. Misfortune is brought upon oneself, not by others; blessings are cultivated by oneself, not bestowed by Heaven.

(Thirty-Seven) It is easy to say that one can be wealthy and honored without becoming arrogant; doing so is difficult. The higher one’s station, the more elevated one’s ambitions tend to become. To grow arrogant because of wealth and honor is like adding fuel to a torch: its flame may seem brighter, but the torch itself burns down faster. How could one fail to be cautious?

“Carrying the Soul and Embracing the One” Chapter

Can you unite the hun and po souls and keep them from separating? Can you focus your vital energy, making body and mind soft like a newborn? Can you cleanse the innermost gaze of your mind until it is free of blemish? Can you care for the people and govern the state without intervening through cleverness and scheming? When your senses open and you respond to things around you, can you remain gentle and still? Can you see clearly in every direction and understand how things work, yet still follow their natural course and refrain from forcing action?

Give life to the myriad things and nurture them. Give them life without claiming them as your own; act without taking credit; let them grow without ruling over them. This is called “Mysterious De”—the profound virtue that accords with the Dao.

Possess nothing among the myriad things, and depend on nothing. Do not set yourself up as their ruler. The myriad things transform in hidden subtlety; Heaven and Earth naturally carry on their workings and bring things into balance. Cast off outward splendor, leave behind the trivial branches, and return to the beginning, back to the source. Calamity is cut off on my side, while disorder fades away on the other; blessings come from Heaven, and De (Virtue/Power) takes root on Earth. The myriad things are brought into balance through a silent, natural unfolding. Its De is deep and mysterious, beyond sight and hearing.

Thirty spokes join at a wheel hub, the part at the wheel’s center where the spokes meet. The hub is hollow, and only then can the wheel turn and the cart be useful. Clay is shaped into a vessel; its hollow interior allows it to hold things. Doors and windows are cut to make a house; the open space within makes it fit to live in. Thus, what is present in solid form brings convenience, while what is empty allows things to serve their purpose.

(“Xiantan” is likely a mistaken form of “shanzhi,” meaning to knead and shape clay. Here it is interpreted from the context as making pottery.)

(39) In ancient times, sages governed the people by following the ways of Heaven and Earth and nature, without resorting to clever contrivances. People drank water from ladles and ate with their hands. All things were equal, with no distinctions of rank or status. Later, rulers began to impose their will. Taxes grew heavy and labor duties multiplied, leaving the people exhausted. The rulers’ demands were never satisfied; they even collected tribute from distant places, forcing men and women alike to carry it over great distances, a burden they could scarcely bear. So resourceful people invented wheels and axles, and harnessed horses and oxen to transport heavy loads over long distances, easing the people’s toil.

As the generations passed, the craft grew ever more elaborate. People carved and decorated the wheels in brilliant colors, painted the shafts vermilion, and adorned them with gold, silver, jade, and pearls. The cost of a single carriage was enough to impoverish the people. Laozi therefore lamented that human inventions damage De, and observed that the pursuit of cleverness can give rise to disorder. He pointed to carriages, vessels, and rooms to show that “being” and “nonbeing” depend on one another and each has its function, leaving behind a warning.

(40) When De declines, distress troubles people from within, while imbalances in Yin-Yang harm the body from without. The people grow weak and thin, and illness becomes more common. People therefore began to make fire and boil water, blend the five flavors, and cook food, though they no longer distinguished between raw and cooked, or dry and moist. Resourceful people then shaped vessels from clay for cooking and for preparing sour and salty flavors. Later, extravagant and unrestrained hunts developed, killing all kinds of living creatures: animals were cut open for their unborn young, and birds were killed for their eggs, all to satisfy the rulers’ desires. People also carved pearls and jade to make cups and plates. Thus, what had originally been simple and unadorned was worked into utensils, until things reached this extreme.

Once people’s hearts changed, they fell out of harmony with all things and incurred resentment. Insects and snakes multiplied, venomous creatures injured people, and wild animals attacked them. Even living in caves, people could scarcely ward off disaster, preserve their lives, and enjoy a full span of years.

So the clever began building houses, with roof beams above and eaves below. They made windows to watch the outside, secured the doors, and designed doors and windows to open and close easily, keeping bees and insects out and wild animals at bay. Later, people built splendid high terraces, pavilions, and the Epang Palace. They set up checkpoints and defended strategic terrain, and built walls to strengthen their defenses. As a result, soldiers were exhausted, and countless people were killed or wounded. People in antiquity regarded this as governing the world; later generations regarded it as disorder. This is the harm that arises when “being” and “nonbeing,” convenience and utility, depend on one another. Its root lies in human desires and actions.

The Chapter on the Five Colors

The five colors dazzle the eyes, the five sounds dull the ears, and the five flavors distort the palate. Racing horses and hunting send the mind into a frenzy, while rare and precious goods lead people to misconduct. Therefore, the sage attends to inner fullness and does not pursue pleasures for the outer senses. The sage lets go of the latter and chooses the former.

Indulging in every shifting hue makes people unable to see the signs of fortune and misfortune, as though a sharp awl were piercing their eyes. Indulging in every kind of music and sound makes people unable to hear the signals of good and ill fortune, as though a wooden mallet were blocking their ears. Craving every kind of delicacy makes people unable to discern what is right and wrong in what they taste, as though a vessel were slicing their tongues.

Those who delight in hunting are prone to let their thoughts sink into frenzy and delusion. Hunting is precisely the first step that leads people into such confusion.

Clinging to the changing forms of wealth and possessions makes people fear that they will stray into perversity and distortion. Wealth and possessions themselves are things that undermine the root.

The sage wears the color beyond colors, listens to the sound beyond sounds, and tastes the flavor beyond flavors. He ranges through boundless realms and walks where there are no boundaries. By freeing himself from the invisible nets, he comes to understand the original heart of the Dao and De.

The sage quiets his thoughts and brings his heart back to the Dao and De. He keeps the spirits in mind, so that his spirit remains clear. He makes harmony the master of his inner life, remaining detached and still, as if no thought had arisen. Without planning, he nevertheless sets Heaven and Earth in motion; without worry, he thinks freely, roaming between the murky depths of primordial chaos. In the face of being and extinction, change and succession, he sees no difference. In the face of honor and favor, lowliness and disgrace, he sees little to gain or lose. He values the Great Dao without placing excessive value on himself. Thus great calamity cannot befall him, and neither can the nets of Heaven and Earth ensnare him.

Before a wild goose has fully developed, if its egg is opened and examined, it cannot yet be called a wild goose. Yet its form, call, head, tail, and other features are already contained within it. This is what is meant by “a wild goose that has not taken shape, yet already contains the essence of a wild goose.” How much more so before even the egg exists: the transformations of nature, through which all things come into being, have already begun to bring it forth.

From this we can understand that before the source of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), and before Heaven and Earth appeared, the forms and sounds of all things had already begun to take shape, though they could not be seen or heard. Only by not relying on the eyes can one see it; only by not relying on the ears can one hear it. Only by not following outward traces can one grasp it; only without expressing it in words can one discern it.

Thus, the formless form is the root from which Heaven and Earth come into being; it is called “Yi.” The soundless sound is the root from which the Five Tones—gong, shang, jue, zhi, and yu—arise; it is called “Xi.” The beginning that leaves no trace is the root from which all things arise; it is called “Wei.”

Deep and vast, it ultimately returns to emptiness. It brings each thing to its own form, and through it all things can give voice. The Five Tones begin from it; this is called “Xi.” The first stirrings of all things, before they have become manifest, arise from it; this is called “Wei.”

(48) It is still and vast, yet in the end returns to emptiness. The Great Dao brings all things to completion in a winding, all-encompassing way, allowing them all to endure. It penetrates the subtle and reaches the most refined, enabling each thing to be what it is. The Great Dao flows throughout the heavens and earth, above and below, yet no one can see its formless, traceless presence.

(49) The Great Dao has no fixed shape, yet it can take on every shape; it has no fixed image, yet it can appear in every image. In a hazy, elusive state, it gives forth light and reveals all. It is vast, yet seems minute; it exists, yet seems to disappear.

(50) Grasp the principles of the Dao that has governed nature since ancient times, and use them to guide the affairs of the present. Its laws do not change for the Yi and Di peoples, as peoples beyond the Central Plains were called in ancient times, nor does its appearance change for China, the ancient name for the Central Plains. By this principle, one can know things’ beginnings and endings. All things depend on the Great Dao’s governance, as though suspended from it; nothing is beyond its rule and illumination. Its workings are boundless and everywhere. The Great Dao is the unseen order underlying all things, and the root of heaven, earth, and all things.

The Chapter on Those Skilled in the Dao of Old

Those of ancient times who were skilled in cultivating the Dao were subtle and wondrous, profound and far-reaching, so deep that others could scarcely fathom them. Because they were so hard to fathom, one can only try to describe what they were like: cautious, as if crossing a river on foot in winter; alert, as if guarding against danger on every side; dignified, as if receiving a guest; yielding and open, like ice about to melt; simple and sincere, like uncarved wood; spacious, like a valley; and blended and indistinct, like muddy water.

Who can still muddy water and let it gradually clear? Who can keep a settled state in motion until life slowly emerges? Those who uphold the Dao do not seek fullness. Precisely because they are not self-satisfied or full, they can remain concealed without rushing to reveal themselves, and do not hurry to bring new things to completion.

(51) When one connects with the Great Dao, all things can gradually come forth. Those who uphold the Dao do not seek fullness. Precisely because they are not self-satisfied or full, they can remain concealed without rushing to reveal themselves, and do not hurry to bring new things to completion.

To understand fully the meaning of Dao and De, to see through the intentions of the spirits, to uphold the constant laws of Heaven and Earth, and to grasp the patterns of Yin-Yang’s changes—yet still to conceal one’s traces and dispel the first signs of things. His actions unfold contrary to ordinary expectations, and so are difficult for others to discern.

There is no obstruction in the heart. What is meant by “guest” is acting in accord with things, without initiating anything from nothing, and following the patterns of Dao and Heaven. One should be like a respectful guest, never presuming to alter the host’s hall or household. “Ice” always remains on the Yin side, showing no Yang energy. It is quiet and makes no noise, shifting with events and moving along with all things. It is gentle, moist, and smooth, adapting to everything. Just as water freezes into ice in winter and melts back into water in spring, this is following the seasons of Heaven.

Chapter: Reaching Utter Emptiness

Bring the heart to a state of utter stillness, and firmly maintain clarity and quiet. All things grow and transform together; from this, I observe how they return to their source. The world is full of things flourishing in great variety, yet in the end each returns to its root. Returning to the root is called “stillness”: it is a return to one’s original state of life. Returning to one’s original life is called constancy. To know constancy is to be wise; to fail to know constancy and act recklessly brings danger.

Knowing constancy enables one to embrace all things. Embracing all things makes one impartial; being impartial makes one fit to govern the people. Governing the people brings one into accord with the Way of Heaven; being in accord with the Way of Heaven is to be in accord with the Dao. In this way, one can endure. To the end of one’s life, one will meet with no danger.

De and the Dao are originally empty and formless, which is why they can contain and transmit the myriad things. Heaven and Earth remain still and clear, which is why they can transform and move. Yin and Yang circulate back and forth, allowing the myriad things to grow and perish. The sun and moon rise and set, and so they give light. The four seasons have beginnings and endings, and so they nurture the myriad things and bring them to maturity. Without understanding emptiness, De and the Dao could not function in this way. If stillness and clarity were lost, Heaven and Earth could not endure. If Yin and Yang went only one way and never returned, they could not communicate with each other. If the sun and moon advanced without retreating, they could not shine as they should. If there were endings without beginnings, the myriad things could not grow.

Therefore, what has form must return to the formless, and what is full must return to emptiness. Let the heart-mind carry no distracting thoughts, and let one’s aims meet no obstruction. Act through Wuwei (non-action), as if blocking out external disturbances; be free of worry and anxiety, as if unbound by ordinary feelings. Preserve what is true and simple, and cast aside clever contrivances. Make not imposing one’s own will the priority, and take emptiness as the norm. In this way, the spirit’s clear discernment can reach its utmost, and the Way of nature can fully manifest.

In action, return to yourself; in thought, gather in the spirit. Conceal the self within a mind free of deliberate intention, so that the body does not burden the mind and spirit. Do not use the will to pursue anything that does not benefit life; do not disturb the spirit with anything contrary to one’s nature. Deal with affairs with ease, while keeping the spirit unchanged; let the inner workings flow, without being drawn outward by things. Turn your gaze inward and listen within, until the body seems no longer a constraint. Follow the spirit’s transformations, roaming above with the Way of Heaven and engaging below with the affairs of the world. Keep the spirit settled and undisturbed, and the Qi (vital energy) of life will not be depleted. In advancing or withdrawing, choosing or yielding, bending or extending, you will keep to the proper middle course.

Begin with Wuwei, set things in motion from the formless, act in accord with the harmonious Qi of the seasons, and in the end accomplish your work.

Heaven and Earth cycle back and forth, and so they endure. People repeatedly sleep and rest, and so their spirits remain clear. Birds must alight and rest before they can fly high again; beasts must pause to rest before they can travel farther. Dragons and snakes lie concealed and rest, and so their vitality can flourish. Plants and trees return to their roots, and so they can grow green again. As the transformations of the myriad things return to their roots, the spirits each find their proper place and connect with emptiness. The hun and po souls can rest and become settled; the heart-mind grows calm, the breath becomes even, and the blood vessels come into balance.

Those who lose the Dao abandon constant principles and act solely on their own cleverness. They indulge their intentions and desires, recklessly undertaking dangerous deeds. Thus, acting through cunning invites calamity; relying on one’s intelligence breeds disaster; probing things too deeply leads toward death; and eloquence can also bring ruin. Why is this so? Because such people do not return to the source of all things or restore life to its root. Their actions go against the Dao, and in stillness they, too, depart from the spirit of Nature. Insisting on holding fast to something, they fail to preserve it truly; insisting that things must be a certain way, they cannot make them so.

Let the spirit roam in emptiness and stillness, and settle intention in what is subtle and mysterious. Set aside thought and desire, and direct yourself toward Wuwei (non-action). Then you can fulfill your life, prolong your years, and remain with the Dao for a long time.

Chapter on the Highest Ruler

With the highest kind of ruler, the people know only that such a ruler exists. With the next kind, they feel close to him and praise him; with the next, they fear him; and with the lowest, they scorn him. When a ruler’s trustworthiness is insufficient, the people do not trust him. He acts calmly and without haste, issuing orders sparingly. When the work is done and the undertaking complete, the people all say, “We did this naturally, of our own accord.”

(58) When the people gladly support someone as their ruler, that person is called an “Emperor.”

Chapter on Abandoning Learning

(59) Secular learning prizes debate and cleverness. People gather into factions to exchange arguments. If good people study it, they may benefit; if those with crooked intentions study it, they may instead be harmed. In the world, good people are few and those with crooked intentions are many. Thus the benefits of learning are slight, while the harm it brings is great. Once those with crooked intentions have mastered it, they are like tigers that have grown wings: they can fly in every direction, choosing their prey to devour. The sage therefore puts an end to this secular learning, bringing peace to all under Heaven. There is no need to impose instruction; people change of their own accord. There is no need to issue commands; people submit of their own accord.

This chapter is titled “By Bending, One Is Made Whole.”

Although a lord or king may possess De (virtue and power), he should remain humble and withdraw, entrusting affairs of state to his officials. In this way, his De can be brought to full expression.

By placing fewer constraints on oneself, one gains more. Willingly taking the position of seeking little and desiring little allows all things to find their proper place.

If one trusts only one’s own thoughts, refuses others’ advice, and speaks and knows too much, one is liable to fall into confusion.

The sage does not presume to see clearly on his own. Instead, he lets everyone under Heaven take part in observing the world. Thus even Li Lou, famed for his keen eyesight, cannot match the sage’s clear-sightedness.

“Attack” means to wage war. When one heeds the anger of everyone under Heaven and leads a campaign against their enemy, even the Yellow Emperor cannot rival one’s strength. When one draws on the power of everyone under Heaven to wage war, even Kings Tang and Wu cannot match one’s achievements. Thus one can put the people of the world to use and bring the feudal lords to submission.

A shadow follows its form, and an echo answers its sound. Since it contends with nothing, who could contend with it?

Quietness and few words accord with nature. A gale cannot blow all morning, and a downpour cannot last all day. What brings about these changes? Heaven and Earth. If even the winds and rains of Heaven and Earth cannot last, how much less can human endeavors? Therefore, those who act in accordance with the Dao…

“Few Words Accord with Nature”

Quietness and few words accord with nature. A gale cannot blow all morning, and a downpour cannot last all day. What brings about these changes? Heaven and Earth. If even the winds and rains of Heaven and Earth cannot last, how much less can human endeavors? Therefore, those who act in accordance with the Dao are in accord with the Dao; those who cultivate De are in accord with De; those who lose the Dao are in accord with its loss. Those in accord with the Dao are gladly welcomed by the Dao; those in accord with De are gladly welcomed by De; those in accord with the loss of the Dao are gladly welcomed by that loss. When one’s own sincerity is insufficient, others will not trust them.

〈66〉When actions follow the Dao, the Dao is revealed through those actions; when actions follow De, De is revealed through them; when actions turn away from the Dao and De, the loss of the Dao is revealed through such conduct.

〈67〉“Sincerity is insufficient” means that a person lacks sincerity within themselves; “others do not trust them” means that both other people and the Way of Heaven do not trust them.

“Those Who Rise on Tiptoe Do Not Stand Firm”

Those who rise on tiptoe do not stand firm; those who take long strides do not walk far. Those who show themselves off cannot see clearly; those who consider themselves right cannot make themselves known; those who boast of themselves have no merit; those who are arrogant cannot endure. From the standpoint of the Dao, these are like excess food and growths on the body. All things despise them, so those who possess the Dao do not act this way.

〈68〉Before all things have even begun to act, those who consider themselves right cannot make themselves known; those who boast of themselves have no merit; those who are arrogant cannot endure. From the standpoint of the Dao, these are like excess food and growths on the body. All things despise them, so those who possess the Dao do not act this way.

(68) Before the people have taken action, and before the realm has responded, the ruler launches a war. This violates the Way of rulership. Once the use of arms departs from the standards a ruler ought to uphold, the essentials of rulership are lost. The people grow resentful, Heaven’s will is unsettled, and the ancestral temples are placed in peril. The ruler will find it difficult to accomplish anything of lasting merit throughout his life.

The Chapter “There Is a Being, Formed in Confusion”

There is a being, whole and undivided, that existed before Heaven and Earth took shape. Silent and still, empty and formless, it exists independently and does not change. It moves in cycles without ceasing and may be regarded as the source of all things under Heaven. I do not know its name, so I provisionally call it “Dao.” Forced to give it a name, I call it “Great.” Greatness at its utmost flows onward; flowing onward, it extends into the distance; reaching the farthest distance, it returns to its source. Thus Dao is great, Heaven is great, Earth is great, and the ruler is great. There are four great beings between Heaven and Earth, and the ruler is one of them. People take Earth as their model; Earth takes Heaven as its model; Heaven takes Dao as its model; and Dao takes what is natural—the way things happen of themselves—as its model.

(69) Merit and De are one and the same.

The Chapter “The Heavy Is the Root of the Light”

Heaviness is the root of lightness; stillness is the master of agitation. Therefore, the sage travels all day without leaving the baggage train—the carts that carry supplies on a campaign. Even amid splendid sights, the sage remains composed in repose. In this way, merit and De are one and the same.

Heaviness is the root of lightness; stillness is the master of agitation. Therefore, the sage travels all day without leaving the baggage train. Even amid splendid sights, the sage remains composed in repose. Why should the ruler of a great state treat the realm lightly? Lightness means losing one’s root; agitation means losing one’s mastery.

(70) This means that when a ruler delights in lightness and agitation, it is like a tree whose roots are shaken. When the roots are shaken, the branches and leaves wither. If the ruler cannot remain still, the people are thrown into turmoil, and the ancestral temples are overturned and placed in peril. In the end, the ruler loses the state.

The Chapter “Know the Masculine”

Know the masculine, yet hold to the feminine, and you can become the valley of the world. As the valley of the world, your constant De will never depart, and you will return to the unadorned state of an infant. Know the bright, yet...

Whoever understands how to hold fast to the dark side can become a model for the world. As a model for the world, their constant De (Virtue/Power) will not go astray, and they can return to the boundless. Whoever knows glory yet remains content with disgrace can be like the valley of the world, open and receptive. As the valley of the world, their constant De will be abundant, and they will return to simplicity and their original nature. When simplicity and original nature are divided, they form the various vessels. The sage puts them to use and becomes the leader who governs the officials. Thus the highest form of governance does not divide the whole.

(71) To return to the state of an infant is to return to the mind’s original state. An infant is wholly unaware, simple, and natural.

(72) To return to the state before birth is to return to the condition before anything had begun. By remaining constantly in accord with the Dao (the Way), one returns to the boundless.

(73) The Dao and De protect all things, and the spirits assist them. When Dao and De are abundant, all things can attain a state of deep harmony, simplicity, and naturalness.

Chapter on Taking the World

Those who wish to take the world and force things into being, I believe, will ultimately fail. The world is a sacred vessel; it cannot be fashioned by human will. Force things into being, and they will fail; insist on holding them, and they will be lost. Thus, among all things, some move ahead and others follow; some are gentle and others firm; some are strong and others weak; some are frustrated and others destroyed. Therefore, the sage casts aside extremes, extravagance, and excess.

(74) Among all things in the world, some are frustrated and others destroyed. Therefore, the sage casts aside extremes, extravagance, and excess.

The world was brought into being through the transformations of the spirits and formed by the Qi (vital energy) of great harmony. Its mysterious depth cannot be fully fathomed even by the wisdom of a sage, nor controlled by human power.

“To act excessively” means doing too much. “Extravagant and out of balance” means indulgence beyond measure, losing moderation and calm. “Great” means tall and imposing; therefore, one should set aside excessive luxury and grandeur.

On Fine Weapons

Fine weapons are inauspicious objects, and people generally detest them, so a person who follows the Dao does not use them. In ordinary times, a gentleman honors the left; when leading an army, he honors the right. Weapons are inauspicious objects, not instruments a gentleman should use. He resorts to them only when there is no other choice, and then values calm detachment above all. Even in victory, he should not regard triumph as something to boast about. To treat victory as a fine thing is to delight in killing. Those who delight in killing cannot use it to fulfill their aims in the world.

In auspicious ceremonies, the left is honored; in mourning rites, the right is honored. The deputy general stands on the left, while the supreme general stands on the right. This means that war should be approached with the attitude of a funeral rite. When many people have been killed, one should respond with grief and tears; even after winning a battle, one should regard it as if conducting a funeral.

Here, “left” and “right” refer to the relative rank of positions in ritual. Yan Zun’s commentary says that “gentleman” means a ruler who holds land and governs a region. To honor the left is to esteem growth and nurture.

On Knowing Others and Knowing Oneself

To understand others is to be wise; to understand oneself is to be truly clear-sighted. To overcome others shows strength; to overcome oneself is to be truly powerful. Those who know when they have enough are rich; those who strive to put their understanding into practice have resolve. Only by not losing one’s roots can one endure. When a person dies but their moral spirit remains in people’s memory, they may be said to have lived long.

Without understanding others, one cannot understand the affairs of the world; without understanding the affairs of the world, one cannot engage with its people. Without understanding oneself, one cannot know the Dao of Heaven; without knowing the Dao of Heaven, one cannot foresee what lies ahead. Without surpassing others, one cannot rise to a position of authority; without rising to a position of authority, one cannot become a king. Without overcoming oneself, one cannot be at ease and content; without being at ease and content, one cannot win the allegiance of others.

Without knowing contentment, one cannot understand what it means to be wealthy; without understanding wealth, one cannot still one’s desires. Without striving to put the Dao into practice, one cannot follow the Dao; without following the Dao, one cannot fulfill one’s wishes. If action does not follow its natural course, harmony cannot be attained; without harmony, one cannot endure. Without enduring, one cannot store up Shen (spirit); without storing up Shen, one cannot live a long life.

Therefore, in establishing oneself in the world, promoting benefit and removing harm, responding to events, and understanding change, nothing is broader in scope than understanding others. In curbing keen hearing and cultivating clear discernment, establishing a state and governing its people, grasping the intent of the Great Dao and knowing the mind of Heaven, nothing is more important than understanding oneself. In wielding political power and governing the people, setting laws and rites, carrying out teachings and commands, bringing order to the world and securing the submission of the feudal lords, nothing is more precious than surpassing others. In upholding De (Virtue/Power) and following the spirits, inheriting the Way of Heaven and Earth and harmonizing Yin-Yang, and discerning the hearts of others at every step and in every action, nothing is more skillful than overcoming oneself.

In governing a household and a state so that the people live in peace, and in helping people act capably and with respect, understand love and filial devotion, and revere the laws, nothing is more noble than knowing contentment. In letting the mind roam in a bright and clear realm and maintaining calm and serenity, even amid high status, prominence, and riches, nothing is better than having one’s wishes fulfilled.

In fulfilling one’s duties, serving one’s superiors and governing one’s subordinates, completing the work of those who came before and carrying it forward, and extending its benefits to the people, nothing is more important than lasting over time. What Heaven and Earth cherish, and what all living beings rely on as their foundation, lets people dwell within it without weariness, take delight in it without knowing when to stop, and flourish in the abundance of every blessing. Nothing is more beautiful than a long life.

Chapter on Holding to the Great Image

“When one holds to the whole principle of the Dao, all things under Heaven will turn toward it. They turn toward it without being harmed, and so all under Heaven is settled, peaceful, and at ease. Music and fine food can make passersby stop on their way; but when the Dao is spoken of, it seems plain and flavorless. Look for it, and it cannot be seen; listen for it, and it cannot be heard. Yet its use is never exhausted.

“The Dao has no body, yet Heaven and Earth rely on it to come into being. It has no definite form, yet Yin-Yang rely on it to begin their movement. It has no fixed laws, yet the four seasons rely on it to turn. It has no image, yet all things rely on it to change and be born. From this we can say that the greatest principle has no fixed principle, and the greatest image has no definite form. The greatest ‘nonbeing’ is not complete absence, and the greatest ‘being’ is not something concretely visible. Life arises from what gives rise to nothing; blockage and decline, too, arise where there is no blockage. Thus, the Dao takes no action, yet Heaven and Earth take shape through it; De (Virtue/Power) does not act deliberately, yet all things find their proper place. What, then, does the Dao do? It clings neither to being nor to nonbeing; it neither acts deliberately nor deliberately refuses to act. The Dao is naturally so, and all things are therefore at ease in the places where they find themselves.”

Chapter on What One Seeks to Draw In

“If you wish to draw something in, you must first let it expand; if you wish to weaken it, you must first let it grow strong; if you wish to abolish it, you must first let it arise; if you wish to take something from it, you must first give it. This is called ‘subtle insight’: discerning how things change from the faintest signs. The soft and weak can overcome the hard and strong. Fish cannot leave the deep water, and a state’s sharp instruments should not be shown lightly to others.

“These four principles show that when one does not deliberately proclaim oneself wise, De naturally flourishes; when one does not rely on clever schemes, instruction naturally takes effect. Drawing in the aspirations of the people under Heaven can instead allow them to unfold; weakening their desire to outdo one another can instead let their strength grow of its own accord.”

The principles by which the Dao and De operate are recorded in the laws of the spirits, expressed through the changes of Heaven and Earth, and regulated by Yin-Yang. What is real turns into nothingness; what is bright turns dark; what flourishes declines; what is stretched tight slackens; what exists perishes; what lives dies. This is the nature of all things and the natural order of things.

Thus, each phase in the cycle of change has its own advantage, and bending and stretching each have their purpose. The Dao governs Heaven, Heaven governs the ruler, the ruler governs the ministers, and the ministers govern the people. All living beings that breathe follow these principles to preserve themselves. When tigers and leopards mean to seize their prey, they hide their claws; when jackals and wolves are about to hunt, they do not bare their teeth. Sages set aside their own preconceptions and follow the Dao; the wise adapt to the circumstances of the times so they can meet the people’s needs. Loyal and upright words are often unwelcome, yet they uphold the right path; treacherous ministers, when about to rebel, always seek to flatter the ruler.

Those who understand these principles and put them into practice can bring good fortune throughout Heaven and Earth and in all four directions. Those who do not understand them but still put them into practice invite calamity even within their own household, among their closest kin. A son or younger brother may at times be like a tiger or wolf; an enemy may at times be like a father or elder brother. Yet things often take an opposite turn: within negation there is affirmation, and within affirmation there is negation. Thus things sometimes perish and sometimes endure. The disloyal, however close, cannot be trusted; the unkind, however close their ties, are not worthy of closeness.