《道德真经次解(唐佚名氏)》

The Subsequent Explanation of the True Classic of the Dao and De is a commentary on the Dao De Jing by an anonymous author of the Tang dynasty. It comprises two scrolls and is included in the Orthodox Daoist Canon, in the Jade Instructions category of the Cavern of the Spirit section. The original work was not divided into chapters; the chapter divisions found in current editions were added by later editors.

The affairs of the world are tangled and manifold, yet their underlying principle can ultimately be brought back to a single standard. The Three Teachings stand side by side, and the Hundred Schools each have their doctrines. All carry forward the ancient Way to meet the needs of their own times, reject erroneous teachings, and return to what is right. Each school clearly sets out its central aim and brings its principles into coherence, explaining matters from one another’s starting points. They hope to make right what is right and wrong what is wrong, white what is white and black what is black. Yet although the age of simple, generous customs has passed, the Way of Heaven remains the same. One sage after another has appeared, and many worthy people have each stood out in their own time.

Confucius was once criticized because his words and conduct did not accord with ritual standards, while Zuo Qiuming, the historian of the Spring and Autumn period, was praised for recording events with care. The longer one governs, the more complicated affairs become; the more one tries to put things in order, the more disorder seems to emerge. Thus the Book of Rites esteems following the Great Way, while the Book of Changes values adapting to the times. Since Heaven does not speak, what can people desire? In the transformations of Heaven and Earth, the myriad things each follow their own nature and yet all accord with what they are. Could sages be unaware of what ordinary people are capable of doing? Could they fail to understand what ordinary people do? How much less should we speak lightly about the subtle meaning and refined depths of the Dao De Jing, or presume to claim that we have already understood them?

I once passed through Suizhou and saw two-part inscriptions of the Dao De Jing on a stone stele at Longxing Abbey, a Daoist temple. On reading them closely, I found that the text differed from the version current at the time: it contained many errors, had no commentary, and lacked chapter titles. The two texts differed in wording, and at times their meanings ran in opposite directions. For example, the current version reads “act without relying on the act,” while the stele reads “act and rely on the act”; the current version reads “do not exalt the worthy,” while the stele reads “do not promote the worthy”; the current version reads “dare not act,” while the stele reads “dare not refrain from acting”; the current version reads “those who rise on tiptoe do not stand firm,” while the stele reads “those who pant do not last long”; the current version reads “the fields are overgrown,” while the stele reads “the fields are lush”; the current version reads “much talk,” while the stele reads “much listening”; the current version reads “selfless,” while the stele reads “without a corpse”; the current version reads “does not release,” while the stele reads “does not ladle out”; the current version reads “does not overcome,” while the stele reads “does not fill”; and the current version reads “small fresh fish,” while the stele reads “small fishy things.” These are only ten examples; it would be impossible to list them all. Each difference has its own character, and scholars of earlier generations and those who came later have each formed their own views.

Seeing these omissions and discrepancies in the text, how could one fail to supply explanations? Without presuming to be learned, I have followed the scripture line by line in my commentary, divided it into two volumes, and titled it “Subsequent Explanations.” This is not a continuation of another person’s work, but an interpretation that stands on its own. The world will judge for itself who is right and who is wrong. I offer it for now to those who share my interests, in the hope that they will not dismiss it lightly. Respectfully, I write this preface.

The Subcommentary on the True Classic of the Dao and Its Virtue is an interpretation of the Classic of the Dao and Its Virtue (Daodejing) by an anonymous Tang dynasty author. The author says that people in the world judge the classic in different ways. He wrote this preface to share his thoughts with fellow enthusiasts, and hopes readers will not dismiss it lightly.

Although the version used in this commentary differs from older editions, it has its own reasoning and distinctive insights. Later readers should not alter it casually or use it as a point of dispute.

This chapter explains “Dao” and “name” in three senses each. “Dao” can mean the great Dao, formless and nameless; a principle that has form and can be spoken of; or the ordinary Dao put into practice. “Name” can mean a name not yet formed, a name that can be spoken aloud, or a name used in everyday life.

Before Heaven and Earth had divided, all was in a nameless state. After clear Qi (vital energy) separated from turbid Qi, the clear Qi became Heaven and the turbid Qi became Earth. Heaven and Earth cover and support the myriad things, which grow within them as children are nurtured by their mother. Here, “mother” refers to the great Dao.

The scripture says, “Ever without desire, observe its subtlety; ever with desire, observe its boundaries.” The commentary explains that when sages observe the subtle aspects of the myriad things, they see that these things arise from the Dao and ultimately return to it. “Subtlety” refers to the fine workings of generation; “boundaries” refers to an end point or final destination.

Both desire and the absence of desire arise from the Dao; they simply have different names. Together they are profound and unfathomable. This profundity deepens still further: it is the gateway through which all manner of wondrous things come into being.

Since the myriad things share the same source, it may be called deep and mysterious. It also contains countless subtle workings, which makes it still more mysterious. Everything in the world arises from this wondrous gateway, the hidden and subtle source from which all things come into being.

Chapter Two

When everyone in the world knows beauty as beauty, ugliness appears.

After the myriad things arise from the wondrous gateway, there are the dazzling Five Colors, the pleasing Five Tones, and the delicious Five Flavors. People therefore regard them as good. Yet they do not know that the Five Colors can damage the eyes, the Five Tones can damage the ears, and the Five Flavors can harm the stomach and intestines. This is their harmful side.

When everyone knows goodness as goodness, wrongdoing appears.

People in the world are skilled at planning and arranging things. From the military and government of the state to the daily needs of ordinary people, they devise clever schemes and strategies, producing changes day after day, accomplishing tasks and building achievements, as if nothing were beyond their abilities. Yet they do not know that schemes first arise in the heart, and responding to change depends entirely on one’s own exertion. Before an achievement is complete, the body may already be lost; before a task is finished, one’s reputation may already be ruined. This is wrongdoing.

Being and nonbeing give rise to each other; difficulty and ease bring each other about; long and short define each other; high and low depend on each other; tone and sound harmonize with each other; what comes before and what comes after follow one another.

From nonbeing, being arises; being may also return to nonbeing. Where there is difficulty, there is ease; where there is length, there is shortness; where there is height, there is depth; where there is tone, there is sound; where there is what comes first, there is what comes after. These things generate and complete one another, depend on one another, and constrain one another; they harmonize and follow each other, forming the many relationships of the world. None of these six pairs of opposites can be separated from its counterpart. The passage that follows says that the sage governs through Wuwei (non-action), and is therefore free from these entanglements.

Therefore, the sage governs the world through Wuwei, without forcing interference, and teaches without relying on words. The myriad things arise and grow, yet the sage does not claim to be their source. The sage acts, yet follows the Dao (the Way). When things succeed, the sage does not claim the credit. Because the sage does not claim credit, the achievements are not lost.

In the original, “acts and serves, serving in reliance on the Dao” means acting while following the Dao. The character “serves” is likely a copying or textual error; this interpretation follows the context.

The sage governs the world through Wuwei (non-action), without relying on elaborate words to instruct people. Then all things can grow according to their own nature. When all things flourish, the sage does not strive to take the lead. Acting in accordance with the Dao (the Way), the sage does not claim credit once an achievement is complete. Because the sage does not claim credit, the achievement does not disappear.

Chapter Three

If those regarded as worthy are not elevated, people will not compete for status and recognition.

If rare goods are not prized, people will not steal.

If things that might stir greed are not displayed, people’s minds will not be thrown into disorder.

The sage governs the world by keeping people’s minds calm and open, their lives well provided for, their drive to compete and prevail subdued, and their bodies strong and at ease. The phrases “empty their minds, fill their bellies, weaken their ambitions, and strengthen their bones” mean having fewer desires and less rivalry, and living more simply, with steadier minds and bodies.

The sage regularly keeps the people free of scheming and desire. In this way, even those who are clever and crafty will not dare to act recklessly. By governing the world through Wuwei, the sage can bring peace and stability to all under heaven.

With Wuwei governance, nothing is left poorly governed.

Chapter Four

The Dao is empty and formless, yet its use never runs dry. It is deep and far-reaching, as though it were the common source of all things. The sage embodies the De (Virtue/Power) of the Dao: drawing in sharpness, resolving resentment, tempering its radiance, and blending with the everyday world. Thus the sage is still and profound, seeming to endure forever.

I do not know whose descendant the Dao is. It seems to have existed even before the Lord of Heaven.

The Sage stands alongside the Great Dao, and so is not the offspring of the myriad things. The Great Dao came into being before Heaven and Earth, and the Sage, too, came into being before Heaven and Earth. Thus it is said that the Sage existed before the heavenly sovereign. Here, “the image of the sovereign” refers to Heaven and Earth.

Chapter Five

Heaven and Earth show no partial affection: they treat the myriad things like straw dogs used in a sacrifice and then discarded.

The Sage, too, shows no partial affection: he treats the people like straw dogs used in a sacrifice and then discarded.

Straw dogs were originally used in sacrificial rites and cast aside once the rites were over. The Sage follows Heaven and Earth, in accordance with the generative transformations of Dao and De. He does not impose control over the myriad things in the name of benevolence. This means that the people and the myriad things each have their own nature.

Is not the space between Heaven and Earth like a bellows and its wind tube?

“Tuo” means bellows, and “yue” means tube.

The bellows are hollow, yet do not run dry. The more they are worked, the more steadily the air flows out. Hearing too much and repeatedly chasing after learning can instead lead to difficulty; it is better to hold fast to sincerity within.

Heaven and Earth are like an empty bellows and wind tube, with breath flowing forth without end. This is a metaphor for following Dao. Hearing too much can cloud right understanding; it is better to hold fast to sincerity.

Chapter Six

The Valley Spirit—the wondrous power that, in stillness and emptiness, nurtures the myriad things—does not perish. This is called the Mysterious Female, the hidden maternal source that gives life and nourishment to all things. The gate of the Mysterious Female is the root of Heaven and Earth. It stretches on without end, seeming almost to exist and almost not to exist; use it, and it is never exhausted.

“Valley” carries the meaning of nurturing. The commentary associates “mysterious” with the nose, which it says governs life and belongs to Heaven, and “female” with the mouth, which it says governs death and belongs to Earth. The nose draws in clear Qi, while the mouth exhales turbid Qi, keeping the breath flowing continuously. By nourishing the spirit in calm and quiet, one prevents external things from entering and internal Qi from dissipating; in this way, one can live one’s whole life without exhausting the spirit or strength. Only sages and worthies can cultivate this practice; few among ordinary people are able to do so.

Chapter Seven

Heaven and Earth endure for a long time. The reason they can endure is that they do not live for themselves; that is why they last.

Heaven and Earth follow Dao in coming into being and allow the myriad things to grow naturally, so they can endure.

Therefore, the Sage places himself behind others, yet comes to stand before them. He sets himself aside, yet is able to preserve himself. He does not act as master of the myriad things, and so the myriad things rely on him to guide them.

Chapter Eight

The highest virtue is like water. Water is skilled at nourishing all things without competing with them. It dwells in low places that people dislike, and so comes closest to the Dao (the Way).

The nature of water embodies the Dao: its form is soft and yielding. When it meets higher ground, it flows downward, changing its shape to follow terrain that is round or square. It can hold much impurity and embrace all things. It does not contend with them, yet benefits them all; therefore, it is close to the Dao.

Chapter Eight

The highest virtue is like water. Water is skilled at nourishing all things without competing with them. It dwells in low places that people dislike, and so comes closest to the Dao (the Way).

The nature of water embodies the Dao: its form is soft and yielding. When it meets higher ground, it flows downward, changing its shape to follow terrain that is round or square. It can hold much impurity and embrace all things. It does not contend with them, yet benefits them all; therefore, it is close to the Dao.

In choosing where to dwell, be skilled at finding a suitable place,

like water following the terrain, flowing toward higher or lower ground.

Let the heart be deep and still, like an abyss,

like the clear, empty surface of water, free of fixed attachments, just as the Dao does not linger in any one thing.

In treating others, be kind and compassionate,

like water, whose benevolence nourishes and aids all things.

In speaking, be truthful and trustworthy,

like an echo answering a sound, true in its response.

In governing, be skilled at bringing order,

like water, which washes away every kind of impurity.

In your work, make good use of your strengths,

like water, which can take on different colors—blue-green, yellow, red, and white—changing as needed.

In your actions, be attentive to the right moment,

acting in accord with circumstances and never missing what is fitting.

Because it does not contend with anything, water has no faults or grievances.

Chapter Nine

Hold something and try to fill it to the brim, and it is better to stop in good time. Sharpen it through repeated honing, and it will not stay sharp for long. Fill a hall with gold and jade, and no one can guard it forever. Rely on wealth and status and become arrogant, and you will bring calamity upon yourself. When achievement and success are complete, withdraw in good time: this accords with the Way of Heaven.

To cling to action in pursuit of completion is less fitting than stopping at the right moment. Even if you carefully examine the affairs of the world and sharpen your understanding, this cannot count as a true treasure of your own. A house filled with gold and jade cannot be kept secure forever. To rely on wealth and status and give free rein to arrogance will surely invite calamity. Therefore, after completing their work, sages withdraw in accord with the Way of Heaven. The Dao has fullness and emptiness, darkness and brightness; it is never fixed or unchanging.

Chapter Ten

Can you let the hun and po souls bear and preserve “Embrace the One”—the cultivated state in which body and mind are unified—and keep them from departing?

Spirit is called the “hun,” and the physical form is called the “po.” The body is like a cart that carries the hun and po. Embrace and guard them, keeping them from leaving the body, and tend to them with care day and night.

Hold fast to the original Qi, the body’s fundamental energy, and keep body and mind supple; then you can be like an infant.

Wash away the subtle traces in the mind’s inner awareness, making it pure and without blemish. Here, “blemish” means illness or defect.

Care for the people and govern the state without using clever schemes to control them. Follow the Great Dao; there is no need to wait for displays of cleverness and talent.

Understand the principles of the four directions, yet act through Wuwei (non-action), following nature without imposing unnecessary action.

When the Gate of Heaven, the gateway through which all things are born and nourished, opens and closes, remain supple and humble. The Gate of Heaven is the gate of life and nourishment: remain gentle and yielding, and do not contend for strength or dominance.

Let all things grow and nourish them, yet do not claim them as your own. Act, yet do not rely on your achievements. Bring all things to maturity, yet do not rule over them. This is called Mysterious De (profound and subtle Virtue).

The sage allows himself to grow and be nourished, yet does not possess himself, rely on himself, or control and harm himself. This may be called mysterious Virtue.

Chapter Eleven

Thirty spokes converge at the hub of a wheel. Because there is an empty space at the center of the hub, the wheel can turn. Clay is kneaded to make a vessel. Because the vessel is hollow, it can hold things. Doors and windows are cut to build a house. Because the house has empty space within, it can be lived in. Thus, formed things provide convenience, while empty space makes their practical use possible.

This chapter explains how “being” emerges from “nonbeing.” Suppose one sets out to make a cart: the wheel, spokes, and hub are all ready. Even before the cart is assembled, the mind already knows the purpose it will serve. Formed things provide convenience; empty space makes their use possible.

This passage speaks of “being born from nothing.” Suppose you want to make a cart. The wheels, spokes, and hubs—the parts that connect the wheels to the axle—are all ready, but the cart has not yet been assembled. Even so, you already know what use it will serve. Likewise, when clay is kneaded and shaped to make a vessel, you know what it will be used for before it is finished. The same is true of a house: before the doors and windows are installed, people already have plans for them. Once things take on a definite form, they can serve practical purposes; even before their forms appear, they already contain subtle potential.

Chapter Twelve

The five colors make people’s eyes go blind.

The five colors—blue-green, yellow, red, white, and black—can, if one pursues outward colors single-mindedly, make one lose the ability to discern the colors that are naturally there, as though one had gone blind.

The five tones make people’s ears go deaf.

Gong, shang, jue, zhi, and yu are the five musical tones. If one attends only to the jumble of sounds in the outside world, one can no longer hear pure sound, as though one had gone deaf.

The five flavors dull the palate.

Sour, bitter, sweet, salty, and pungent are the five flavors. If one pursues every kind of taste, one loses a calm and balanced palate.

Racing about and hunting in the fields make the mind wild.

Riding at a gallop and chasing game make people give free rein to their minds and spirits, throwing them into disorder and stirring up greed.

Rare and precious goods obstruct people’s conduct.

Rare and valuable things such as gold, silver, and jewels can lead those who cherish them to act against what is right.

Therefore, the sage attends to inner nourishment, like caring for what the belly needs, and does not chase outward sensory pleasures, like fixating only on what the eyes see. So the sage lets go of outward pursuits and chooses inner cultivation.

Chapter Thirteen

Favor and disgrace, honor and lowliness, both bring alarm; regard great troubles as one regards the body.

Receiving favor or suffering humiliation both cause alarm. Regard great troubles as something as important as your own body.

What does “favor and disgrace” mean? To be favored is already to occupy a low position; when things go badly, favor may even increase.

When favor comes, one feels alarm; when favor is lost, one feels alarm as well. Favor and disgrace go hand in hand, and both gaining and losing bring unease. This is what is meant by “favor and disgrace both bring alarm.”

What does it mean to regard great troubles as one regards the body? The Five Phases—Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water—overcome one another, and the Four Great Elements, the four constituents of the body, disturb one another. As a result, the body is subject to all kinds of great troubles.

The reason I have great troubles is that I have this body. When I no longer have a body, what troubles could there be?

By not regarding oneself as overly important and not relying on one’s achievements or reputation, one avoids great calamity.

Those in high positions are often assailed from every side, and so are prone to suffer great calamity.

The reason I have great troubles is that I have this body. When I no longer regard myself as a fixed “self,” what troubles could remain?

By not regarding oneself as overly important and not relying on one’s achievements or reputation, one avoids great calamity.

Only someone who values their own person more than all under Heaven can be entrusted with all under Heaven. Only someone who cherishes their own person more than all under Heaven can be given all under Heaven to safeguard.

Favor often brings humiliation in its wake, and calamity often arises from within oneself. When the sage receives favor, they do not rejoice; when they suffer humiliation, they are not afraid. Thus they avoid great calamity. Someone who knows how to cherish their own person and does not invite humiliation through high status may be entrusted with all under Heaven. Someone who knows how to care for their own person and does not thereby invite calamity may be given all under Heaven to safeguard. This means that a ruler entrusts all under Heaven to the worthy and governs together with them.

Chapter Fourteen

Look for it and it cannot be seen: this is called “Yi” (the plain and formless). Listen for it and it cannot be heard: this is called “Xi” (the silent and soundless). Reach out to grasp it and it cannot be obtained: this is called “Wei” (the subtle and imperceptible). These three qualities cannot be pursued to their end, so they are blended together and regarded as one body of the Dao.

Above, it does not appear bright; below, it does not appear dark. It stretches on without end, yet cannot be named, and in the end returns to the formless and immaterial. This is the form of the formless, the image of what has no concrete appearance; it is called “Huhuang” (the elusive and indistinct). Face it, and you cannot see its beginning; follow it, and you cannot see its end.

Grasp the principle that has operated constantly since ancient times, and it can be used to respond to things in the present. To know the source that has endured since antiquity is to hold the guiding thread of the Dao.

The Great Dao cannot be seen with the eyes or heard with the ears, nor can it be grasped through extensive searching and questioning. Its qualities must therefore be brought together to understand it. Above, the Dao does not appear bright; below, it does not appear dark. Its operation continues without end, and in the end it returns to the formless and immaterial. It seems to have form, yet cannot be grasped, and so is called “Huhuang.” The Dao has no visible beginning or end: whether one faces it or follows it, one cannot see its start or finish. Grasp the Dao that has operated constantly since ancient times, and one can guide affairs in the present. To understand its fundamental pattern from antiquity to the present is to know the guiding thread of the Dao.

Chapter Fifteen

In ancient times, those skilled in cultivating the Dao (the Way) were subtle and mysterious, penetrating into what was hidden and profound. Their depth made them impossible to fathom. Since they could not be fathomed, one can only describe them in approximate terms: they were cautious, like someone crossing a river on foot in winter; alert, as if always watching their surroundings; dignified, as if observing every courtesy when receiving guests. They were like ice about to melt, gradually dissolving; plain, like uncarved wood; and openhearted, like a valley. They were also like muddy water: seemingly turbid, yet able to clear slowly through stillness. Once settled, they allowed all things to gradually come forth.

Those who hold fast to this Dao do not seek fullness. Because they do not strive for perfection, even when worn down and damaged, they can become whole again. From ancient times, those skilled in cultivating the Dao often possessed a mysterious and profound attainment. They concealed their traces and kept their names unknown, so the world could not understand them. Here, a series of comparisons describes them: cautious like someone crossing a river in winter, alert as if living among neighbors, respectful and courteous like a guest. They were like melting ice, plain as uncarved wood, and openhearted as a valley. They seemed turbid, yet could clear themselves within the murk; in stillness, they could also let vitality gradually emerge. They did not seek perfection, but were content to remain plain and unshowy, and so could hold fast to the Dao.

Chapter Sixteen

Bring the mind to the utmost emptiness and firmly maintain stillness. All things grow together; from this, I observe how they return to their root. All things flourish in profusion, each with its own source; in the end, they all return to their root. Returning to the root is called “stillness.”

When cultivation of the Dao reaches the utmost stillness and emptiness, one can see that all things are born and pass away, and that they change in countless ways. Yet each has its own source and destination, and in the end all return to stillness.

Stillness is called “returning to life’s mandate.” Returning to one’s nature is called “the constant,” meaning what does not change.

Knowing the constant Dao is called clarity. Failing to know the constant Dao and acting recklessly brings danger.

To know the Dao is to understand one’s proper place and allotted portion; this is clarity. One sees that all things return to the same Dao. If one does not know how to keep to the constant and acts recklessly beyond one’s limits, danger will follow.

Those who understand the constant Dao can contain all things. By containing all things, they can be impartial. Impartiality allows them to nurture all things, enabling them to grow naturally without self-interest. One who nurtures all things has the beneficence of Heaven, which nourishes them. Heaven accords with the Dao and follows its course. The Dao endures without end, with neither birth nor extinction. Understanding this, one will not fall into peril throughout one’s life.

Those who understand the constant Dao can embrace all the world’s varied likes and dislikes; this is impartiality. Being impartial and free of self-interest, they can nurture all things and respond to them as Heaven and the Dao do. Those who understand this will not meet with peril throughout their lives.

Chapter 17

Of the highest rulers, the people know only that they exist.

The next best rulers are close to the people and praised by them, because they accord with all things and enable each to find its proper place.

Those below them are feared by the people, because their governance makes people feel that life and death are in the rulers’ hands.

Those below them still are scorned and insulted by the people, because they look down on all things and do not follow the Dao.

When a ruler’s trustworthiness is insufficient, the people will not trust them. The highest rulers cherish their words and do not issue commands lightly. When matters are accomplished, the people do not know who brought them about. They say, “It happened naturally.” The sage sees the myriad things changing in confusion, yet remains trustworthy and careful with words. When matters succeed and undertakings are complete, the people do not know how it came about; they believe everything simply happened naturally.

Chapter 18

Only after the Great Dao (the fundamental principle that operates naturally and without favoritism) had fallen into decline did benevolence and righteousness appear. Only after cleverness and ingenuity were put on display did many forms of deceit arise. Only after harmony among relatives was lost did people place special emphasis on filial devotion and kindness. Only after the state fell into disorder did loyal ministers appear.

When the Great Dao prevailed, there were no distinctions of rank or partiality, no deceit or hypocrisy, and no divisions between those who were close and those who were distant. There was no need to make a point of loyalty or filial devotion. Benevolence and righteousness were discussed only after the Great Dao declined: righteousness arose to make up for unfairness. Wisdom was praised because people sought to establish doctrines and display their talents. Filial devotion and kindness were emphasized because people had lost their sense of respect. The appearance of loyal ministers showed that the ruler had lost the proper way to govern the state.

Chapter 19

Cast aside the deliberate display of sagacity and clever schemes, and people will gain much more.

Sages establish laws to instruct the people, and the wise devise methods to bring about useful things. But once there are laws, there are also offenses; once there are benefits, there are also harms.

Cast aside the deliberate promotion of benevolence and righteousness, and people can recover filial devotion and kindness. Benevolence can help the myriad things, and righteousness can bring tasks to completion. But when some receive aid, others do not; when some things are accomplished, others cannot be.

Cast aside cleverness and the pursuit of profit, and thieves will not appear. Cleverness is used to manipulate changing circumstances, while profit is regarded as the finest thing under Heaven. From this, treachery takes root, and the lure of profit gives rise to theft.

These three teachings are not enough, by themselves, to make a complete system of instruction, so additional directives must be established to give people a sense of direction. One should reveal one’s unadorned nature, hold fast to simplicity, lessen self-interest, and restrain desire, so that people follow these four principles. “Reveal the unadorned” means removing superficial refinement; “hold fast to simplicity” means preserving what is plain and genuine; “lessen self-interest” means diminishing concern for oneself; “restrain desire” means keeping one’s desires in check.

Chapter 20

Put an end to superficial learning, and there will be no worries. Learning makes people feel that they lack something; set it aside and hold fast to the Dao, and you will be free of worry.

How great is the difference between a respectful “yes” and a careless reply? How great is the difference between beauty and ugliness? Respect and disrespect cannot be cleanly separated, nor can beauty and ugliness be divided from one another.

What people fear must indeed be treated with due caution. This refers to the two paths of life and death; even before one has seen them firsthand, they must be approached with reverence.

Respectful assent and careless replies cannot be cleanly separated, nor can beauty and ugliness be divided from one another. What people fear must indeed be treated with due caution.

People inevitably feel fear because they cannot see where life and death lead.

The Great Dao is vast and boundless. It has no center, and no east, south, west, or north.

Everyone is cheerful and lively, as if attending a splendid feast or climbing a terrace in spring to admire the view.

“Xi xi” describes a state of joy and harmony. “Great sacrificial offerings” refers to the abundant food presented at a sacrifice or feast. A “spring terrace” is a high platform where people climb to enjoy the view.

I alone seem like an infant whose mind has not yet awakened, like a child who has not yet grown up and does not know where to turn for belonging.

Everyone feels they have more than enough; I alone seem to have nothing.

When people act, they always feel they have strength to spare. The sage is empty, still, and practices Wuwei (non-action), as though having given everything up.

My mind is simple and unadorned, like that of someone who does not understand the ways of the world.

People in the world seem clear-sighted, while I seem dim. They are skilled at discernment, while I seem slow and quiet.

People in the world rush about, as though they can never catch up. The sage, by contrast, remains still and free of busyness.

I seem dim and indistinct, silent and without a fixed place to settle. I am like someone in the depths of night, unsure what to take up or what to rely on.

Everyone has something to rely on and some use to serve; I alone seem stubbornly plain and crude.

People’s conduct is always purposeful and clear. The sage, by contrast, keeps to simplicity, like someone dull and unrefined.

I wish to be different from everyone else: what I value is the “mother” that nourishes all things—the Dao. Others harbor thoughts of expansion and abundance; the sage is like a child nourished by relying on its mother, making no presumptuous moves according to personal will.

Chapter Twenty-One

The conduct of a person of great De (Virtue/Power) follows only the Great Dao. This means that a person of great De can embrace all things because they follow the Dao.

The Dao, as something that exists, is vague and elusive, difficult to grasp. Yet within this vagueness there are things, and there are images.

The Dao has no fixed form. Sometimes it appears, sometimes it disappears. Between being and nonbeing, it can give rise to the images of all things.

Within the deep and dim there is subtle reality, containing reliable signs.

“Dim and obscure” refers to the Dao, profound and difficult to perceive. Within the Dao is a real and subtle nature. When people seek it with sincerity, they receive a response; the Dao never breaks faith.

From ancient times to the present, the name of the Dao has endured. How can we know where the myriad things arise and where they ultimately return? We know this through the Dao. If people have followed this principle from ancient times onward, they can examine the many kinds of good conduct. The sages know that all good conduct arises naturally from the Dao.

Chapter 22

By yielding, one can be made whole; after being bent, one can return to what is straight. Low places can be filled; worn-out things can be renewed. Taking little and seeking little brings gain; seeking too much leads to confusion. Therefore, the sage embraces the One and makes it the standard for all under Heaven.

By not insisting on being right, one becomes clear; by not deliberately displaying oneself, one is seen clearly. By not boasting of one’s achievements, one establishes merit; by not exalting oneself, one endures.

Precisely because the sage does not contend with others, no one can contend with him. The ancients said, “Yield, and you will be made whole.” Could these words be empty? Once things are accomplished, the credit ultimately belongs to the sage.

The sage yields and follows the patterns of things, so no one can contend with him. The principle practiced by the ancients is no empty saying. Once things are accomplished, the sage claims no credit, and the honor of bringing them to completion naturally falls to him.

Chapter 23

Few words accord with nature. A gale cannot last all morning; a downpour cannot last all day. What makes them so? Heaven and Earth. Even the gales and downpours brought forth by Heaven and Earth cannot last long. How much less can human actions endure?

The Dao cannot be explained in words; it has always valued following nature. A fierce wind cannot blow all morning, and a torrential rain cannot last all day. Even Heaven and Earth cannot rely on wind and rain to assert their power, yet people compete to teach and transform others with words and to establish great undertakings.

Act in accordance with the Dao, and you will attain the Dao. Accord with De, and you will attain De. Follow the loss of the Dao, and you will lose the Dao. When trustworthiness is lacking, others will not believe you.

Those who follow the Dao attain the Dao; those who follow De attain De; those who follow the loss of the Dao lose the Dao. When trustworthiness is upheld, all things will believe in it. This means not placing value on empty words.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Standing on tiptoe does not let you stand for long; taking great strides does not make your walk steady. Those who show off cannot see things clearly; those who insist they are right cannot make their reasoning clear; those who boast have no merit; those who are self-important cannot endure. Seen from the Dao, such acts are like leftover food and excess baggage: everyone despises them. For this reason, those who have the Dao do not act this way.

Here, “breathing hard” means straying from the Dao, while “striding” means clinging to the Dao. Those who stray from the Dao cannot endure; those who cling to it cannot make their way forward. People who show off, insist they are right, boast, or pride themselves are like travelers carrying leftovers and burdening themselves with extra provisions. Those who have the Dao reject such behavior.

Chapter Twenty-Five

There is a whole and undivided presence that existed before Heaven and Earth came into being. Silent and empty, it stands alone and does not change; it circulates without ceasing and can be called the source of all things under Heaven.

The Dao is empty, still, and boundless, without a companion. Neither brightness nor darkness alters its constant course. It moves through the world without danger and nurtures all things, like a mother caring for her child.

I do not know its original name, so I provisionally call it “Dao.” If forced to give it a name, I would call it “Great.” Great means ceaseless movement; movement means going far away, so far that all things cannot catch up. At the farthest point, it returns. Thus the Dao is great, Heaven is great, Earth is great, and the king is also great. Between Heaven and Earth there are four great things, and the king is one of them.

The Dao existed before Heaven and Earth appeared, and continues to operate after they have taken shape. Seek it, and its form cannot be seen; put it to use, and it responds. So, out of necessity, it is given the name “Great.” Pursue the Great and it cannot be grasped; this is called “Passing Away.” Pursue what has passed away and it cannot be grasped; this is called “Distant.” Pursue what is distant and it cannot be grasped; this is called “Returning.” “Returning” means ultimately withdrawing and coming back to the Dao. The Dao and Heaven and Earth stand alongside one another, and all may be called great; yet a king should still hold fast to the Dao. Here the text repeatedly emphasizes that a king must ultimately keep to the Dao.

Human beings take Earth as their model; Earth takes Heaven as its model; Heaven takes the Dao as its model; and the Dao takes Nature as its model.

The Earth brings forth and nurtures the myriad things, so human beings take Earth as their model. Heaven nourishes the myriad things, so Earth takes Heaven as its model. The Dao gives rise to Heaven and Earth, so it is called “Nature.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Gravity is the foundation of lightness; stillness is the master of agitation.

Lightness and ostentation are like branches and leaves, while gravity and solidity are the root. Agitation disturbs the people; stillness enables one to become their master.

Therefore, the noble person conducts affairs throughout the day without leaving the baggage cart behind—the vehicle that carries heavy loads on a journey, here a metaphor for holding fast to the Dao and De (Virtue/Power).

This means that the noble person holds the Dao in the heart and carries De within, as if always bringing along important baggage.

Even when dwelling amid splendid terraces, pavilions, and palaces, one should remain composed and self-possessed. As the ruler of a state with ten thousand chariots, how can one treat the world lightly? Lightness means losing one’s roots; agitation means losing one’s position as master.

If a ruler lacks gravity, he will lose the Dao he is meant to uphold; if he is restless and agitated, he will lose his position.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Those skilled at walking leave no trace of wheels or footsteps; those skilled at speaking are not limited by distance, and can reach everywhere.

That is, their actions leave no trace, yet everything is accomplished everywhere; without relying on words or commands, they can bring things to pass throughout the world.

Those skilled at planning do not rely on counting tools.

Some things in the world cannot be planned in advance or worked out by calculation alone. If one goes against the Dao, one will lose one’s position.

Those skilled at walking leave no trace of wheels or footsteps; those skilled at speaking are not limited by distance, and can reach everywhere.

That is, their actions leave no trace, yet everything is accomplished everywhere; without relying on words or commands, they can bring things to pass throughout the world.

Those skilled at planning do not rely on counting tools.

Some things in the world cannot be known through calculation; only the Dao can make them understood.

Those skilled at closing doors need no bolt, yet no one can open them; those skilled at tying knots need no rope, yet no one can untie them.

A bell can undo things tied in knots or held in bonds. But what is locked and knotted in people’s hearts through reason cannot be undone.

Therefore, the sage is always skilled at helping people and abandons no one. The sage is also skilled at helping all things and abandons nothing. This is what it means to inherit and illuminate the principle of the Dao.

The sage guides those who are not good by means of goodness, bringing them all back to goodness. The sage helps not only people but all things as well; this is precisely how the sage follows and illuminates the Dao.

Thus, a good person is the teacher of one who is not good, while one who is not good is a resource for the good person.

The good person teaches those who are not good and is therefore called their teacher. Those who are not good receive instruction and put the Dao into practice, thereby also helping the good person.

If one does not honor the teacher or value this resource, then, however clever one may think oneself, one is deeply confused.

This is the subtle essence of the matter: teaching people and helping all things are the essential points.

Chapter 28

Know the masculine, yet keep to the feminine, and you can become the channel through which all under Heaven flows. If enduring De never leaves you, you can return to the unadorned state of an infant.

The strong is called “masculine,” and the yielding is called “feminine.” Keep to the yielding, like a valley receiving all waters: De will not leave you, and you will become as gentle as an infant.

Know the bright, yet keep to the dim, and you can become a model for all under Heaven. If enduring De is never abandoned, you will ultimately return to the boundlessness—the fundamental principle with no limits or end.

Know the bright, yet remain content with the dim; this can make you a model. And do not grant the name of brightness to others, causing everyone to chase the same desire. In this way, you can return to the ultimate principle.

Know honor, yet remain content with disgrace, and you can become a valley for all under Heaven. Enduring De will thereby become abundant, and you will ultimately return to the uncarved simplicity.

Honor arises from disgrace; when honor is lost, one returns to disgrace. Rather than chase honor, remain content with disgrace. Disgrace is like a valley, receiving what all under Heaven despises. In this way, De becomes abundant and joins with the uncarved simplicity.

When the uncarved simplicity is divided, it becomes the various vessels. The sage uses these to appoint officials and govern the people. Thus, truly complete governance does not divide the whole.

Once a great vessel has been completed, its unworked simplicity becomes apparent. With a broad governing principle that follows nature, there is no need to divide up or manipulate the world. This means that officials should govern in accord with the principle of simple, naturalness.

Chapter 29

Those who want to claim the world as their own and control it, governing by these means, will, I think, fail. They should stop in time. The world is a wondrous vessel; it cannot be forcibly made or controlled. Forceful action leads to failure, and clinging to control leads to loss.

Among the myriad things under heaven, some flourish and others decline. Mountains and valleys shift, and the seasons turn like flowing water. The world, this wondrous vessel, cannot be fixed by human force. To seize the world, defy nature, and insist on governing it is to turn away from the Dao and damage De.

Among all things, some move ahead and others follow; some breathe out slowly and others blow sharply; some are strong and others frail; some endure while others are quickly destroyed. Therefore, the sage sets aside extremes, extravagance, and excess.

In things, good is accompanied by bad. When it is cold, people want warmth; when it is hot, they hope for coolness. The strong rely on their own strength, while the weak appear frail. Things that seem able to continue often soon fall apart. Therefore, the sage sets aside extremes—that is, does not go to extremes; sets aside extravagance—that is, does not seek adornment; and sets aside excess—that is, does not become arrogant or indulgent.

Chapter 30

Those who use the Dao to assist a ruler do not rely on military force to dominate the world, because the use of force often brings retaliation. An army is originally sent to punish those who refuse to submit. If the world is governed according to the Dao, the regions will naturally come into accord; there is no need to rely on a powerful army, and the world will submit through the ruler’s De. “Return” means to come back.

Where an army has been stationed, brambles and thorns grow. After troops have been sent out, the places they pass through are wounded and their fields lie waste, so they become overgrown with brambles.

Those skilled in governing need only act decisively and accomplish what must be done; they do not use that achievement to show off their strength.

Do not indulge yourself, show yourself off, or rely on your achievements.

When results are achieved only because circumstances leave no choice, they should not be pursued by force. When things reach the height of their strength, they begin to decline. This is called being out of accord with the Dao, and one should stop before it goes too far.

Decisive action accords with the Dao only when circumstances leave no choice. To keep asserting one’s strength at its peak is not to follow the Dao. The scripture’s warning against acting out of accord with the Dao means that such conduct is unacceptable.

Those skilled in warfare are often regarded as inauspicious. All things abhor war, so a person who follows the Dao does not engage in it.

In ordinary life, the gentleman honors the left; in warfare, the right is honored. The left symbolizes governance, while the right symbolizes expedient adaptation.

Weapons are inauspicious things, not instruments on which a gentleman should rely. They are used only when there is no alternative. A gentleman takes the Dao as his standard and turns to war only after losing sight of it.

Quietness and detachment are the best course. War, therefore, is not something to praise. To praise war and take pleasure in it is to take pleasure in killing. A person who delights in killing cannot win the support of all under Heaven.

In auspicious ceremonies, the left is honored; in funerals and military rites, the right is honored. The deputy general stands on the left, and the supreme general on the right, following the arrangement used in funerals. Since war kills many people, it should be met with grief and lamentation. Even when victorious, one should conduct oneself according to the rites of mourning.

The ruler occupies the center, so there is a left and a right. The left belongs to Yang and governs administration; the right belongs to Yin and governs punishments and killing. The deputy general assists the state and commands the army, while the right-hand general handles matters of expediency. The ancients carried out military campaigns according to ritual and music. Even when they sent troops into battle, they often felt compassion; after victory, they still felt grief and compassion. For this reason, the rites celebrating victory were called “mourning rites.”

Chapter 32

The Dao has never had a fixed name. To call it “the Uncarved Block” merely suggests that it is plain and small; yet all under Heaven would not dare treat it as a subject to be ruled.

The Dao is nameless by nature. To call it “the Uncarved Block” is a makeshift name, and makes it seem small. Those who can hold fast to the Dao will not be ruled by all under Heaven. This means that a person of virtue cannot be made to serve through words.

If the lords and kings can hold fast to the Dao, all things will naturally come to them.

When Heaven and Earth join together, they send down sweet dew. No one commands where it should fall, yet it spreads evenly of its own accord.

Heaven sends down abundant rain, reaching everywhere it falls. This does not depend on people to distribute it; it means that the workings of the Dao can be carried out everywhere.

When all things first take shape, they acquire names. Once names are established, implements are made.

All things also come to know when to stop. Those who understand how to rest will not fall into danger.

The Dao flows throughout all under Heaven, like streams and valleys pouring into rivers and seas. In the beginning, all things follow the Dao as they come into being; after growing, they also pass away. If they do not cling to their own survival, they will not fall into danger. Streams and valleys flow downstream and ultimately return to rivers and seas: this is what it means to have somewhere to return.

Chapter 33

Understanding others is cleverness; understanding yourself is true insight.

Using one’s intelligence to understand others is not as good as understanding oneself. Relying only on cleverness and talent depletes the spirit; understanding oneself is what brings clarity to the Way.

Overcoming others takes strength; overcoming yourself is true power.

Using strength to overcome others is not as good as overcoming yourself. Those who can overcome themselves are stronger than those who overcome others.

Those who know contentment are truly wealthy. The world’s possessions are without end, while the human body and its desires are limited. If you know contentment, you are already wealthy.

Firmly carrying out what was described earlier means holding fast to one’s resolve. Only by not departing from one’s roots can one endure. Only when something remains undestroyed after death can one be called long-lived.

The material wealth of the world is inexhaustible, while each person’s life is limited. To know contentment is already to be wealthy.

Firmly carrying out what was described earlier means setting one’s resolve on the Dao and not departing from the root from which the Dao arises; in this way, one can endure. After death, the soul’s Qi returns to Heaven and the bodily spirit returns to Earth. De, however, does not perish, and so it may be called long life.

Chapter 34

The Great Dao flows everywhere, extending in all directions, with no fixed left or right.

The Great Dao is vast and boundless, with no borders; one cannot say that it lies on any particular side or in any particular place.

All things depend on the Dao for their life, yet the Dao does not turn them away. All things accomplish their work, yet the Dao does not claim the credit. It nourishes and shelters all things but does not rule over them, and so it may be called small. All things ultimately return to the Dao, yet the Dao still does not claim to be their ruler, and so it may also be called great.

Although all things depend on the Dao for their life, once they accomplish their work, they do not know that the credit belongs to the Dao. They rely on the Dao but do not regard it as their ruler, so the Dao is called small. All things ultimately depend on the Dao, and so it is also called great.

The sage never claims greatness, and so in the end achieves greatness.

The sage follows the Dao and does not claim renown; thus he achieves a renown that may be called great.

Chapter 35

Hold fast to the “Great Image” (the complete image of the Great Dao), and all under Heaven will turn toward it. When people turn toward it, they suffer no harm; then all under Heaven is peaceful, stable, and at ease.

The sage never claims greatness, and so in the end achieves greatness.

The sage follows the Dao and does not claim renown; thus he achieves a renown that may be called great.

Chapter 35

Hold fast to the “Great Image” (the complete image of the Great Dao), and the Dao will be embraced by all under Heaven. When people turn toward the Dao without suffering harm, they can be settled, peaceful, and at ease.

Music that delights the ear and food that pleases the palate can make passersby stop, but cannot keep them there for long. The Dao, when spoken of, is bland and tasteless; look for it, and no form can be seen; listen for it, and no sound can be heard. Yet in its use, it is inexhaustible.

The sage governs the realm by following the Great Dao—the fundamental principle of natural non-action—and most people live in peace and calm. Once stability is established, people tend to prize pleasure, wine, and fine food. Pleasure taken to its extreme turns to sorrow, and elaborate rites can bring disorder, so the sage uses the Dao to restrain them. Pleasure is like a brief stop on a journey: it soon passes. It is better to hold to the Dao’s quiet simplicity, which may seem plain and tasteless but has inexhaustible effects. Those who insist on chasing pleasure will eventually reach the end of it.

Chapter Thirty-Six

What you wish to draw in,

you must first let expand;

first allow it to expand in accordance with the Dao.

What you wish to weaken,

you must first let grow strong;

first allow it to grow strong in accordance with the Dao.

What you wish to discard,

you must first let flourish;

first allow it to flourish in accordance with the Dao.

What you wish to take,

you must first give;

first give in accordance with the Dao.

This is called the subtle and perceptive principle.

It is the pattern by which things reverse and change. Understand how to apply it, and events will unfold in keeping with their natural course.

The soft and weak can overcome the hard and strong. Fish cannot leave the deep waters; a state’s sharp instruments should not be readily displayed to others.

The soft and weak are like water, while the hard and strong are like fish: fish cannot live apart from water. Sharp instruments stand for the power and methods used to govern a state; they should not be readily shown to others. To govern in accord with the Dao, one should make softness and weakness central to the way one rules.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The Dao is constantly non-active, yet nothing is left undone. If rulers and lords can hold to this principle, the myriad things will transform of themselves. If desires arise after they have transformed, I will use the nameless uncarved simplicity—the state of what is natural and unshaped—to settle them. Through simplicity, people return to desirelessness; with desirelessness comes stillness, and the realm will naturally be set in order.

The Great Dao is inherently non-active, and so nothing lies beyond what it can accomplish. If rulers and lords seek to change the myriad things deliberately, then after those things have changed, they should guide them again toward a state of natural simplicity. Simplicity brings people back to Wuwei (non-action), and Wuwei leaves them with few desires. With no excessive desires, people can be still. When rulers govern through stillness, the realm naturally returns to the right way.

The Upper Volume of the Second Explanation of the True Scripture of the Dao and Its Virtue ends

The Lower Volume of the Second Explanation of the True Scripture of the Dao and Its Virtue

The Scripture of De

The Dao (the Way) is the source of all things, formless and without shape. De (Virtue/Power) is the Dao at work within all things, able to take visible form. De arises from the Dao, and the Dao also reveals itself through De. The highest De and the highest Dao are originally one. To attain it is to preserve life; to lose it is to perish. The sage abides before the distinctions of Dao and De, and is therefore not bound by life and death. Ordinary people live after these distinctions arise, and so they are born and die. Those who truly attain the Dao do not deliberately seek it; those who lose the Dao have nowhere to recover it. The state of clinging to nothing and seeking nothing is called attaining the Dao; when one acts and puts its power into effect, this is called possessing De. And there are countless people in the world who understand nothing of Dao and De, yet drift with the current and wander through life and death. This is why Laozi set out the Dao Jing and the De Jing separately.

Chapter 38

The highest De does not proclaim itself as De. For this reason, when it truly takes effect, it reveals De. The lower kind of De is never willing to let go of its attachment to De, and so it does not possess true De.

Those with high De do not rely on their De, and so they truly possess it. Those with low De cling constantly to their De, and so they do not possess it.

High De follows what is natural, acting without contrivance or a preconceived aim. Low De takes action with a clear purpose.

High De follows what is natural and has nothing it deliberately sets out to do. Low De, by contrast, takes action with the intention of accomplishing something.

Higher benevolence acts, but without a deliberate aim. Higher righteousness acts with clear judgment and purpose.

Higher benevolence accords with De and has nothing that needs to be done deliberately. Higher righteousness requires discernment and judgment, and therefore takes action.

Higher ritual acts, but when it receives no response, it stretches out its arm and forcibly draws people back into ritual propriety. Here, “stretching out the arm” means reaching out to take something or pulling someone along. “Ritual” refers to norms of proper conduct and is also considered one of the Five Constant Virtues: benevolence, righteousness, ritual, wisdom, and faithfulness.

Only after the Dao is lost do people speak of De; only after De is lost do they speak of benevolence; only after benevolence is lost do they speak of righteousness; only after righteousness is lost do they speak of ritual. Ritual provides the rules for practicing the Five Constant Virtues: benevolence, righteousness, ritual, wisdom, and trustworthiness. Ritual gestures can sometimes carry an expectation of reward, and so may not receive an equal response. The “baring of the arms” mentioned in the text means reaching out to take something.

Only after the Dao is lost do people speak of De; only after De is lost do they speak of benevolence; only after benevolence is lost do they speak of righteousness; only after righteousness is lost do they speak of ritual. Ritual signals that loyalty and trust have grown faint, and marks the beginning of disorder.

Only after our natural nature is lost do we have virtuous conduct; only after virtuous conduct is lost do we have acts of benevolence; only after acts of benevolence are lost do we have standards of righteousness; only after those standards are lost do we have ritual observances. Clinging to ritual observances shows that loyalty and trust have grown faint and natural nature has been lost. Ritual thus becomes the beginning of disorder.

“Foreknowledge” is the outwardly displayed brilliance of the Dao, and the beginning of folly.

Foolish people in the world see only what is before them and give no thought to the consequences. They delight only in beginnings, without considering whether things can end well. This is like a fruit tree: people admire its flowers and leaves but pay no attention to whether it will bear fruit.

Therefore, the great man, a person of virtue and insight, rests in what is substantial and does not pursue what is shallow; he values what is real and does not covet empty display.

So, cast aside what is showy and choose what is substantial.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

In ancient times, all things each attained the One—the fundamental unity of the Dao through which all things are established. Heaven attained the One and became clear; earth attained the One and became stable; spirits attained the One and became efficacious; valleys attained the One and became full; all things attained the One and grew; and kings and lords attained the One and governed the world.

If they lost this foundation, heaven could not remain clear and might collapse; earth could not remain stable and might be shaken; spirits would lose their efficacy and might fade; valleys could not remain full and might dry up; all things could not grow and might perish; and kings and lords would lose their honored standing and might fall.

Thus, honor is rooted in lowliness, and height is grounded in what is low. Honor is made visible through lowliness, and height through what is low.

For this reason, feudal lords and kings called themselves “gu” (“solitary”), “gua” (“few in virtue”), and “bugu” (“unworthy”). In doing so, they placed themselves in a low position. The hub is the part at the center of a wheel where its many spokes meet. When feudal lords and kings called themselves “bugu,” were they not making lowliness their foundation? Seeking many praises, then, one loses true praise. The virtue of feudal lords and kings benefited all under Heaven, and people praised them for it; they did not act in order to win praise.

One should not wish to be like jade, lustrous and precious, but instead wish to be like stone, plain and ordinary. Jade is rare and precious, while stone is common and lowly. Those who possess De do not seek honor; they are willing instead to dwell in a low position.

Chapter 40

Returning is the movement of the Dao; weakness is the way the Dao functions. The myriad things under Heaven are born from “being,” and “being” is born from “nonbeing.” Both movement and stillness must accord with the Dao. Weakness is the way the Dao acts. All things arise through “being” and, in the end, return to “nonbeing.”

Chapter 41

When the highest kind of person hears of the Dao, they diligently put it into practice. When the middling kind hears of it, they seem to remember it and then seem to forget it. When the lowest kind hears of it, they laugh aloud. If they did not laugh at it, the Dao would not be worthy of being called the Dao.

The people described here as highest, middling, and lowest are born with clear, balanced, and turbid Qi, respectively. The highest hear of the Dao and diligently put it into practice; the middling hear it but only partly understand it; the lowest hear it and cannot understand it at all. The Dao runs counter to worldly views, and so people laugh at it.

The ancients expressed it this way:

The bright Dao seems dim; when the Dao becomes manifest, it often appears obscure.

The advancing Dao seems to retreat; concealing one’s tracks and hiding one’s name is precisely a way of advancing the Dao.

The level Dao seems like ordinary things.

The highest De seems ordinary and worldly.

The purest white seems stained.

Vast De seems insufficient; because it is boundless, it always seems to fall short.

Those who cultivate Virtue often seem as though they have done something shameful and fear others will find out. Those who are truly spotless often seem to have suffered humiliation.

Great Virtue seems somehow deficient.

Those who cultivate Virtue often seem as though they have done something shameful and fear others will find out.

Those who are genuine and unadorned often seem as though they are mixed with impurities.

The greatest square has no corners.

The greatest vessel often takes a long time to complete.

The greatest sound seems faint and scarce. The loudest sound is thunder, yet it cannot roar without end.

The greatest image has no fixed shape. The “great image” spoken of here refers to Heaven and Earth.

The Dao is hidden and does not show itself; it cannot be named. Only the Dao can endow all things with vital essence, enabling each to complete its growth and transformation.

Chapter Forty-Two

The Dao gives rise to one; one gives rise to two; two gives rise to three; and three bring forth the myriad things. The myriad things bear Yin and embrace Yang, and through the blending Qi of Yin and Yang they achieve harmony.

What people dislike are names such as “orphan,” “widower,” and “unworthy.” Yet rulers and feudal lords use these names for themselves. Thus, things are sometimes diminished and thereby gain; sometimes increased and thereby lose.

The Dao gives rise to the One Qi; the One Qi transforms into the two Qi of Yin and Yang; these two Qi then give rise to the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and humanity, which in turn bring forth the myriad things. The myriad things receive Yin and embrace Yang, harmonizing above and below through the blending Qi of Yin and Yang. Humble names such as “orphan” and “widower” reflect the principle that loss and gain transform into one another; this is also a common pattern.

The teachings people pass on, I too use to teach others: those who act violently and forcefully often meet a bad end. I take this saying as a fundamental lesson.

People should take those who act violently and forcefully as a warning, and constantly hold to the way of weakness.

Chapter Forty-Three

The softest thing in the world can pass through what is hardest in the world.

This shows that the weak can overcome the strong.

The state of “nonbeing”—formless and without substance—can enter places where there is no gap. This shows that the Dao of Wuwei (non-action) is beneficial. Teaching without words and bringing benefit through Wuwei are things few in the world can accomplish.

“Without gaps” here means a realm with no separation, one that can be entered everywhere. When the Dao of Wuwei enters such a realm, its function becomes clear. Few in the world can understand teaching without words and the benefits of Wuwei; “rare” means “few.”

Chapter 44

Which is closer to you: reputation or life? Which is more precious: life or possessions? Which is more harmful: gain or loss? Excessive attachment will inevitably exact a great price, while storing up too much will ultimately bring even greater loss. Those who know contentment will not suffer disgrace; those who know when to stop will not fall into danger. In this way, they can endure.

Reputation is distant from one’s own person, while life is close; one must not harm the body in pursuit of reputation. Life is more precious than possessions; one must not lose one’s life in pursuit of wealth. Gain brings its own troubles, and loss brings troubles of its own. Attachment leads to depletion, and hoarding leads to loss. To endure, one must be content and keep to one’s proper limits; then one will not encounter danger.

Chapter 45

What is most complete may seem to have flaws, yet its function never fails. What is most full may seem empty, yet its function is never exhausted. What is most upright may seem bent; what is most skillful may seem clumsy; what is most eloquent may seem inarticulate. Movement can overcome cold, and stillness can overcome heat. Clarity and stillness can govern the world.

When cultivation of De (Virtue/Power) reaches completion, it appears instead as humility and openness, so its function does not decline or run dry. What is upright may seem bent, what is skillful may seem clumsy, and what is eloquent may seem inarticulate. Movement and heat both belong to states of disturbance, while cold and stillness symbolize quietude without disturbance. Clarity and stillness are the foundation of governing the world.

Chapter 46

When the world follows the Dao (the Way), warhorses are sent back to plow the fields and spread manure. When the world is without the Dao, warhorses and weapons appear in the countryside.

Quietude without disturbance is the foundation of the right order.

When the world follows the Dao, warhorses are sent back to plow the fields and spread manure. When the world is without the Dao, warhorses and weapons appear in the countryside.

When the ruler follows the Dao, he does not rush to requisition warhorses but gives priority to farming and the fields. When the ruler goes against the Dao, warhorses fill the countryside, showing that he prizes force and delights in war. Giving priority to farming encourages the people to cultivate the land. Making and using weapons, by contrast, harms all living things.

No fault is greater than indulging greed; no calamity is deeper than not knowing when one has enough; no failing is more serious than continually seeking to gain more. Those who know contentment are the ones who remain content.

The fault that comes from craving desire lies in relentlessly seeking to fulfill one’s wishes, until calamity ultimately falls upon oneself. Not knowing when one has enough means being consumed by greed. Thus, those who know contentment can find satisfaction in whatever they do.

Chapter 47

Without leaving one’s door, one can understand the world. Without looking out the window, one can grasp the Dao of Heaven—the patterns of nature’s movement. The farther one travels, the less one knows. Thus the sage understands things without traveling, distinguishes things without seeing them with his own eyes, and accomplishes things without deliberate action.

The principles of the world are connected; there is no essential difference between what lies within one’s door and the world beyond. By cultivating oneself, one can know the outer world from within. The Dao of Heaven and the human way are in accord. If one cultivates oneself, Heaven’s Dao will naturally respond. Why travel far or peer out the window? The sage does not seek principles by going out, gain understanding through what he sees and hears, or pursue accomplishment through words. He allows things to come about naturally.

Chapter 48

In the pursuit of learning, something is added each day. In cultivating the Dao, something is reduced each day. Reduce and reduce again, until one reaches Wuwei (non-action). With Wuwei, nothing remains undone. Governing the world depends on not disturbing the people and not acting recklessly. Once government becomes disruptive and overly deliberate, it cannot govern the world.

Studying a broad range of knowledge adds to what one knows each day; cultivating virtue means gradually letting go of desires. When one reduces them until reaching a state of Wuwei, the hearts of the people throughout the world are not difficult to settle.

Chapter 49

The sage has no fixed, private intention; he takes the people’s intentions as his own.

When the people have desires, the sage does not impose his own actions upon them. He responds to their desires with a mind of Wuwei and follows their nature.

I treat those who are good with kindness, and I also treat those who are not good with kindness. In this way, people can be led toward goodness. I trust those who are trustworthy, and I also trust those who are not. In this way, people can be led toward trustworthiness.

Those skilled in dealing with others respond properly to kindness. When they meet unkindness, they still respond with kindness, thereby guiding the other person back toward goodness. Those who keep faith are trusted by the sage. The sage also trusts those who do not keep faith, for only in this way can the principle of trustworthiness be made manifest.

When governing the world, the sage is always concerned and vigilant, doing everything possible to let the people’s hearts return to simplicity and naturalness. The people watch and listen with full attention, and the sage cares for each of them in turn.

The sage’s concern is constant, and the sage shares the people’s hearts. The people gaze up at the sage’s kindness, and the sage cares for them all.

Chapter 50

Moving from life to death is the natural course of human existence.

Cultivating the Dao can lead one toward vitality, while indulging in desire leads toward death.

Among people, roughly three in ten belong to the long-lived, and roughly three in ten die young. Another group could have lived, but through improper conduct heads toward death; they too make up roughly three in ten. Why is this? Because they pursue pleasure too greedily and indulge themselves excessively.

For people, life and death are the natural order. Of every ten people, about three follow the path of seeking life, three move toward death, and three could have survived but enter the realm of death through their actions. Excessive concern for preserving life may instead invite danger, so their actions readily bring them into mortal peril.

It is said that those skilled at caring for life can walk on land without encountering a rhinoceros or tiger, and enter a battlefield without being harmed by weapons.

Things that can injure people include the rhinoceros’s horn, the tiger’s claws, and the sharp edges of weapons.

The rhinoceros cannot gore them, the tiger cannot claw them, and weapons cannot find an opening to strike. Why is this? Because they have not placed themselves in mortal peril.

Those who can recognize the right moment while traveling on land, know when to advance or withdraw in battle, and are skilled at caring for life and avoiding harm will not fall into mortal peril.

Chapter 51

The Dao brings the myriad things into being; De nurtures them. Each thing takes shape, and external conditions help it grow. Thus, there is nothing among the myriad things that does not honor the Dao and cherish De.

The myriad things come into being through the Dao and are nurtured through De. Their forms take shape and their lives reach fulfillment; therefore, they honor the Dao and cherish De.

Dao and De are inherently worthy; they need no titles or rewards to affirm their worth. That is simply their natural state.

Thus, the Dao gives life to and nourishes the myriad things, while De enables them to be sustained. Dao and De cause the myriad things to grow, develop, take shape, mature, and receive nourishment and protection. They give life to the myriad things without claiming ownership of them; they act without taking pride in their accomplishments; they help the myriad things grow without ruling over them. This is called “profound De,” the far-reaching and subtle power of virtue.

Chapter 52

All things under Heaven share a common beginning: the Dao. The Dao may be regarded as the root of all things under Heaven. Once you recognize the root of things, you can understand what grows from it. Having understood the myriad things, return to and hold fast to their root—that is, hold fast to the Dao—and you will face no danger throughout your life.

Close the openings of the senses, and you can keep yourself from danger.

The myriad things are born from the Dao, which is their root. The root and the myriad things depend on one another. Hold fast to their root and do not depart from the Dao, and you can keep yourself from danger.

Close the openings of the senses, and you will not be worn out throughout your life. If you indulge the senses and open the gates of desire, busily chasing after affairs, your life will be beyond saving.

Those who follow the Dao do not value verbal disputes, nor are they pulled along by immediate likes and dislikes. To go against this is to face endless affairs that leave you utterly exhausted.

To see what is subtle is called discernment; to remain soft and yielding is called strength. Use your own light while returning to the Dao’s discernment, and keep misfortune from falling upon you. This is called inheriting the constant Dao.

All things grow from small beginnings. By holding fast to gentleness, you can become truly strong. Let your actions always return to the Dao, and do not lose sight of its enduring principles; then you will not bring misfortune upon yourself.

Chapter 53

If I had even a little understanding, as I walked along the Great Dao, my only fear would be straying from the right path in my conduct.

If I understood the Great Dao, my greatest fear would be failing to act in accordance with it. Knowing the Dao is easy; putting it into practice is difficult, because people readily fall into worldly ways.

The Great Dao is broad and level, yet people prefer to take side paths.

The court is in disarray, and the fields are overgrown with weeds.

People constantly pursue change in their daily lives, replacing clothes, utensils, objects of amusement, servants, horses, residences, and more.

The crops grow thick in the fields, yet the granaries are nearly empty.

Though the fields yield crops, the granaries stand empty. This means that spending is excessive.

They wear splendid clothes, dressing in fine silks and brocades.

They carry sharp, precious swords and delight in bows, arrows, and swords.

They crave lavish meals, keeping busy with cooking and slaughtering and neglecting everything else.

They accumulate surplus wealth, hoarding many precious treasures of gold and jade.

This is called “straddling like a thief,” and it is contrary to the Dao. Chasing such pleasures is no different from being a thief; possessing these things is not in accord with virtue.

Chapter Fifty-Four

What is well established cannot be uprooted; what is firmly held cannot slip away. The sacrifices offered to the ancestors by their descendants will thus continue from generation to generation.

When cultivation of the Dao and De is put into practice in oneself, De becomes sincere and pure. When put into practice in the family, De can accumulate. When put into practice in the village, De can endure. When put into practice in the state, De can bring abundance to all things. When put into practice throughout the world, the beneficence of De can spread far and wide.

Therefore, observe oneself by looking at oneself: cultivate oneself, and good fortune will follow; fail to cultivate oneself, and calamity will result. Observe the family by looking at the family: cultivate the family, and it will be orderly and peaceful; fail to cultivate it, and it will fall into disorder. Observe the village by looking at the village: cultivate the village, and its people will live in harmony; fail to cultivate it, and they will fall into conflict.

A nation’s condition can be seen in whether it is well governed or in disorder. When it is governed well, the nation is at peace; when it is governed poorly, it perishes.

The condition of the world can likewise be seen. When it is governed well, the world comes together in harmony; when it is governed poorly, the world splits apart.

How do I know the world will be like this? By following this principle.

The sage applies this principle and is thus able to observe the world.

Chapter 55

A person of deep De (Virtue/Power) is like a newborn baby. Venomous creatures will not sting it, and birds of prey and wild beasts will not harm it. Commentators explain that someone who deeply cultivates De and embraces the Dao (the Way) is often like a baby, without distinctions in their attitude toward things. Even birds and beasts, therefore, do not harm them. “Seize” means to harm.

A baby’s bones are weak and its sinews soft, yet its hand can grip things tightly. Though weak, a baby can hold on firmly because its primal Qi (vital energy) is abundant.

A baby does not yet know about sexual union, yet its Jing (essence) can gather and become full. This is Jing at its peak. A baby can cry all day without its voice becoming hoarse. Its voice does not dissipate, and its inner Qi is in perfect harmony.

“Dark female” refers to the way of sexual union between man and woman. A baby does not yet understand this, yet its Jing remains abundant. Its voice does not grow hoarse when it cries, showing that its breath is harmonious.

To know how to preserve harmony is called constancy; to nourish life is called good fortune. One must carefully observe the state of one’s Jing and Qi.

When the mind directs the breath, this is called forcing. When the breath is not directed in this way, it can remain calm.

When things become excessively vigorous, they grow old. This is called straying from the Dao; what strays from the Dao soon perishes.

Knowing how to keep harmonious Qi within oneself, and carefully using the mind to cultivate the body, may be called strength and insight. At the same time, one must remain soft and yielding for the long term. Excessive vigor goes against the Dao.

Chapter 56

Those who truly understand the Dao do not speak much; those who speak much do not truly understand it. Block the openings of the senses and close the gates of desire; blunt sharpness and untangle disputes; soften one’s radiance and become one with the dusty world. This is called “mystic unity,” being in accord with the mysterious Dao.

One who has attained mystic unity is neither especially close to others nor distant from them; is neither especially esteemed nor harmed by them; and is neither elevated nor brought low. Thus, they become one whom all under Heaven hold in honor.

Those who understand the Dao speak little because they hold to the Dao. Those who do not understand it often talk about the Dao, hoping to promote their own views through it. Those who understand the Dao restrain their senses and keep the gates of the heart closed. They do not show their sharpness or let anger remain within them. They blend their light with the world of dust, making no distinctions between closeness and distance, gain and loss, or high and low. They share the Dao’s profound De. For this reason, all under Heaven respect them. Those who do not understand the Dao are the opposite.

Chapter 57

Govern the state by the right way; direct warfare with stratagem; govern all under Heaven through Wuwei (non-action). How do I know this is how the world is? The evidence is here.

In governing the state, one should follow the right way; in directing warfare, one may use stratagem. In battle, generals must employ stratagem and drive soldiers into danger, showing no pity. In governing the state, the aim should be to bring peace to the people, not to practice deceit. First remove the troubles within oneself; only then can one extend the borders. The sage understands both the governance of the state and the use of troops, and thus understands the principles that should guide political rule.

The more taboos there are under Heaven, the poorer the people become.

Too many prohibitions easily stir up disorder, so systems are continually established. When people cannot do as they please, punishments are used to restrain them.

The more sharp weapons the people possess, the more chaotic the state becomes.

When the people use methods of advantage and harm as tools, the state’s politics become more confused.

The more clever the people become, the more strange things appear.

When people become excessively crafty, they make many strange objects to mislead others.

The more numerous and stringent the laws, the more thieves there are.

Thieves appear again and again because they fear the laws and therefore seek ways to evade them.

Thus the sage says: I do not act rashly, and the people naturally transform themselves.

I do not impose order deliberately, and things naturally get done.

I do not create many disturbances, and the people naturally become prosperous.

People live according to their own needs.

I cherish quiet, and the people naturally govern themselves.

I do not set up laws to control the people at every turn.

I have no desire to grasp for more, and the people naturally remain simple.

When people deliberately establish titles and doctrines, the people do not know what they should rely on or follow.

Chapter 58

When government orders are lenient and understated, the people appear simple and unspoiled. When orders are strict and intrusive, the people suffer loss and lose their natural simplicity.

When governance is lenient, the people remain calm and simple. When it is too forceful, they are harmed.

Misfortune is where good fortune depends; good fortune, too, conceals misfortune. Who can know when their transformations will end?

People often rely on good fortune without knowing that misfortune may arise from it. They do not know how good fortune comes about, or when misfortune will arrive.

When government orders lose the Dao of governance, public affairs become perverse.

When public affairs go astray, governance turns deceitful; what is called good can in turn become disorder. People have been confused for a long time. Therefore, the sage is upright without harming others, pure without becoming defiled, direct without being reckless, and inwardly bright without showing off.

Chapter 59

In governing the people and responding to the Dao of Heaven, nothing is better than following the proper measure. Only by following the proper measure can all things be brought to submit early. To bring them to submit early is called continually accumulating De. When De has accumulated deeply, nothing is beyond sufficiency. No one knows the limits of such sufficiency. To know the limits of things is to be able to govern a state.

To govern a state, take the Dao as its foundation. Only when the foundation is deep and the roots are firm can the state remain stable for a long time. This is the way to survive and endure.

In governing the people and responding to the seasons, the best course is to observe the proper measure; this enables all things to submit early. Once all things have submitted, De can be accumulated without cease. When De is sufficient to the utmost, people can scarcely fathom its limits. Knowing the limits of things makes it possible to govern a state, taking the Dao as its foundation. Plant the roots deeply and hold them firm, and the state can develop for a long time.

Governing a great state is like cooking small fish and other small aquatic creatures: they should not be stirred too often. When the world is governed by the Dao, ghosts and spirits cannot manifest and cause trouble. This does not mean that ghosts and spirits have no mysterious powers at all; rather, even when they manifest, they do not harm people. And it is not only ghosts and spirits that do not harm people: the sage, too, does not harm the people or endanger the state. In this way, the state can remain stable and endure.

When the sage governs from above, birds, beasts, and fish can all grow according to their nature—how much more so can human beings? When the world is governed by the Dao, the seasons and climate are in harmony, and epidemics and disasters do not arise; therefore, ghosts and spirits cannot cause trouble. All things have their own mysterious powers, but when those powers are used to cause trouble, people are harmed. Spirits aligned with the right way do not harm people. The sage follows the Great Dao and likewise does not harm people. When neither harms the other, their De (Virtue/Power) can come together.

A great state should be like the lower reaches of a river, where the waters of the world gather and toward which all flow. Its low position is like the yielding nature of the female. The female is characterized by softness and stillness, and softness and stillness often overcome strength. A great state is like the lower reaches of a river, downstream from its source: all things will turn toward it, and the world will thereby be united. A great state should overcome strength through yielding humility.

Thus, if a great state humbly places itself below a small state, it can win the small state’s allegiance; if a small state humbly places itself below a great state, it can gain the great state’s acceptance. Winning allegiance through humility and gaining acceptance through humility lead to different outcomes. A great state wants only to embrace and care for the people; a small state wants only to join with and serve a great state. Both can fulfill their wishes: the great state wants to welcome many states, and the small state wants to be accepted by a great state. Therefore, the great state in particular should be humble.

A great state treats a small state with courtesy, and a small state treats a great state with courtesy: the great state wants to welcome the small state, while the small state wants to join with and serve the great state. Though each has its own aim, the great state should still humble itself, thereby winning the small state’s allegiance.

The Dao is the hidden root of all things and the treasure of the good. Even those who are not good can rely on it for protection.

Fine words can win trust, and noble conduct can raise a person’s standing. One who is skilled in following the Dao understands how to give and receive.

Even if someone has faults, what reason is there to cast them aside? In ancient times, the Son of Heaven was appointed and the Three Dukes—high officials who assisted him—were established. The Son of Heaven governed the Three Dukes, the Three Dukes managed the officials, and the officials governed the people. In this way, everyone had a place of their own, and no one was discarded.

Even if someone offered paired jade disks and four fine horses as a grand gift, it would be better to sit down and present the Dao. The Dao, like jade disks and horses, can be passed on to others, but those who cultivate the Dao need not make the journey themselves.

Why did the ancients prize the Dao? Was it not because those who sought it could gain what they sought, and even those at fault could be forgiven? That is why all under Heaven revered it. The ancients said that one need not personally practice the Great Dao or save everyone far and wide; simply refraining from wrongdoing and staying within the law was already worthy.

Chapter 63

Act with Wuwei (non-action), without contrived effort; handle affairs without making a burden of them; take the tasteless as flavor and remain detached. Whether the grievance is great or small, many or few, respond with De (Virtue/Power).

Resolve affairs, great or small, many or few, through De, and resentment will have no chance to arise.

Make plans while a matter is still easy to handle, and begin great undertakings when they are still slight. The difficult things under Heaven must begin with what is easy; the great things under Heaven must begin with what is small.

Begin everything with what is easy, then gradually take on what is difficult; begin with small matters, then gradually accomplish great things. In this way, difficult tasks become manageable, and great undertakings can be completed.

Promises made too readily are often hard to keep; those who regard matters as too easy often encounter many difficulties in the end.

Therefore, the sage always takes difficulties seriously, and so ultimately has no difficulties.

The sage passes through every kind of hardship and, in time, accomplishes deeds and De.

Chapter 64

When things are stable, they are easy to maintain; before signs have appeared, they are easy to plan for.

Before things show any clear signs of taking shape, they are easy to plan for and manage. Soft, delicate things are easy to break; tiny things are easy to scatter. So arrangements should be made before events arise, order established before disorder takes shape, and preparations made in advance to guard against the unexpected before matters are complete.

A tree large enough for a person to wrap both arms around grows from a tiny shoot; a nine-story terrace is raised basket by basket of earth; a mountain peak a hundred fathoms high begins beneath one’s feet. All things develop gradually from what is small, until they grow great.

Forcing things often spoils them; clinging to something can make it slip away. Thus the sage does not act recklessly and so avoids ruining things; the sage does not cling and so avoids losing them. People often spoil their work just as it is about to succeed. If they remain as careful at the end as they were at the beginning, they will not ruin it.

People in the world cling to desires, and their actions easily stray from the right path. The sage acts in accord with what is natural and does not move rashly as things wax and wane. People often fail to begin with respect and finish with care; as soon as they try to impose their will, things have already gone awry.

Therefore, the sage seeks what ordinary people do not seek and does not value rare possessions. The sage studies what ordinary people do not study, using it to make up for the mistakes people commonly make. In this way, the sage helps all things grow naturally and does not dare to act recklessly. This is the sage’s guiding principle.

Chapter 65

Those of ancient times who were skilled in cultivating the Dao did not use cleverness to make the people crafty and shrewd. Instead, they let them remain at ease, simple, and sincere. The people are difficult to govern because they have many clever schemes and calculations, and so they make distinctions and pursue their own advantage at every turn. Governing a state through cleverness becomes a calamity for the state, so it should not be done.

In ancient times, those skilled in cultivating the Dao did not seek to make people clever, constantly distinguishing between what they liked and disliked. They sought to make people content and joyful. People are difficult to govern because their minds are full of cleverness and distinctions. Governing a state through cleverness brings calamity to the state; governing it without cleverness brings it the blessing of De. Knowing when to use intelligence and when not to use it is the principle of governing. Steadfastly holding to this principle is called “Mysterious De” (profound and subtle virtue). It is the foundation of governance. Mysterious De is deep and far-reaching, contrary to the usual ways of all things; only in the end can one attain a state of accord with the Great Dao.

Those who governed the world in ancient times did not want people to judge what was good or bad and make distinctions in every matter. They wanted only for people to be content and have fewer schemes. Once people acquire too much cleverness, they become difficult to govern. Cleverness readily gives rise to deceit, and concealed fraud becomes the beginning of calamity. Governing by the principle of Mysterious De gradually dispels cleverness that departs from what is natural, allowing the world to return to harmony.

Chapter 66

The rivers and seas can become the destination of all streams because they are good at staying low; thus, they gather all the streams.

The rivers and seas lie downstream, and so all the streams flow toward them.

Therefore, if a sage wishes to stand above others, they must speak to them with humility; if they wish to lead others, they must place themselves behind them. To speak with humility means to show others consideration and care. To place oneself behind others means to help and support them first.

When the sage occupies a high position in this way, people do not feel burdened; when the sage leads, people are not harmed. Thus, people throughout the world gladly uphold the sage and never grow weary of doing so. Because the sage does not contend with others, no one in the world can contend with the sage.

Even when occupying a high position, the sage remains willing to approach those below and honor others. Even when leading, the sage puts others first and self last. Thus, people do not grow weary of the sage; instead, they are often glad to uphold them. Who, then, could contend with such a person?

Chapter 67

Everyone in the world says, “I am great,” yet this does not sound like self-praise. It is precisely because what is truly great does not sound boastful. If one keeps proclaiming one’s greatness for a long time, one instead seems small.

People in the world regard the Dao as immensely vast, and therefore not something to compare or mock. It is precisely because it is vast that people cannot easily deride it. If it could endure mockery for a long time, it would probably not be truly vast.

I have three treasures that I have always cherished and held fast: the first is compassion, the second is frugality, and the third is not daring to put myself ahead of everyone under Heaven.

The sage regards compassion, frugality, and not striving to be first as three virtues to treasure and hold fast.

Because of compassion, one can be courageous. Compassion seeks to help all things, and so it gives rise to courage.

Because of frugality, one can have plenty. Frugality conserves resources, and so resources remain abundant.

Because one does not dare to strive to be first, one can become a leader among the people. By not placing oneself first, one can yield humbly and, in turn, rise above others.

Today, if people cast aside compassion and seek only courage; cast aside frugality and seek only plenty; or cast aside yielding and insist on being first, they will meet their ruin.

Bravery without compassion, extravagance without frugality, and striving to be first without willingness to yield are all paths that lead to death.

Compassion can also guide the formation of an army and the defense of a city: arrange the ranks with compassion, and conduct will be upright; defend the city with compassion, and its defenses will be strong. When Heaven wishes to save someone, it protects them through compassion.

When compassion is present in the ranks, there is no wanton killing; when compassion is present in the defense of a city, the innocent are not harmed. By following Heaven’s will and aligning with the people’s hearts, one naturally receives help and protection.

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Those of ancient times who were skilled in cultivating the Dao did not display martial courage, because they placed importance on preserving the Way of governance. Those skilled in warfare were not quick to anger and did not revere killing. Those skilled at defeating their enemies did not contend with them for strength or victory; they could even make war unnecessary. Those skilled at employing others always placed themselves humbly below them.

Even when two armies face each other in battle, propriety and righteousness should be upheld.

This is called the virtue of non-contention. It is also called skill in using the strength of others, and it is the highest principle of all, in harmony with the Dao of Heaven.

Military force is meant to quell disorder. A ruler skilled in governing can prevent disorder from arising, and so does not revere military force. If circumstances leave no choice and weapons must be taken up, one should feel no anger toward the enemy or contend with them for strength. Instead, one should treat them with humility and propriety, while doing one’s utmost to prevail. Such virtue accords with the Dao of Heaven and is the highest law of ancient times.

Chapter Sixty-Nine

The ancients had this saying about the use of military force:

The ancients once said.

I do not dare take the initiative in bringing on disaster or vie to be its leader. I can only respond after the fact; necessity leaves me no choice. I dare not advance an inch, but retreat a foot. This does not mean I seek to seize or annex what belongs to others.

This is called acting as though one did not act, issuing commands without forcing others to obey, raising one’s hands to meet the enemy as though one had no arms, resisting an attack without taking the initiative to seize, holding weapons without using them lightly, and facing an enemy without treating them as someone who must be destroyed. If one uses troops in accordance with the proper laws, what enemy could truly oppose us?

No calamity is greater than looking down on the enemy, for this means harboring contempt in one’s heart. To despise the enemy is nearly to lose what is most precious to us: our own troops. Thus, when opposing armies are evenly matched, the side that feels compassion can win. A skilled fighter, even when no opponent can match them, should not therefore become contemptuous; to do so is sure to destroy their own strength. In battle, the yielding side can overcome the rigid one.

Chapter 70

My words are easy to understand and easy to put into practice, for they contain no selfish intent and nothing that is difficult to do. Yet no one in the world can truly understand them or put them into practice. This is because the Dao is profound, and words have their own source and foundation, just as actions have their own guiding principle. Speech must be grounded in what is fundamental, and action must follow the guiding order it ought to keep.

Because people do not understand me, no one truly knows me. Some things in the world are simply beyond people’s knowledge, and even sages cannot necessarily know them all. Few understand me, and so what I embody appears all the more precious. Few can model themselves on me, and so I appear all the more precious. Thus the sage wears coarse cloth on the outside while keeping jade within: outwardly plain, inwardly treasuring the Dao.

Chapter 71

To know that one does not know is wisdom. To be ignorant yet think oneself knowledgeable is a flaw. The sage has no such flaw because he does not indulge in unfounded thought or impose judgments. He regards this flaw as a flaw and remains alert to it; therefore, he is free of it.

Chapter 72

When people do not fear the authority that should be feared, a greater power will descend upon them. If one acts with care and deliberation in all one does, great mistakes can be avoided. Do not make your dwelling narrow and confining, or let your heart become distressed and burdened. Always remain settled and content.

When people no longer fear authority, great calamity will befall them.

If you think carefully about when to advance and when to withdraw, you can avoid serious mistakes. Do not make yourself cramped within the space you occupy, and do not let yourself sink into distress and exhaustion. You should always know where to stop and understand when enough is enough. Do not grow weary of your life. A person’s lifespan has its limits—how can you force yourself beyond them? Only by not growing weary of life can you live for a long time. Thus, the sage understands himself but does not deliberately display himself; he cherishes himself but does not raise his own worth. Seeking no fame or acclaim is understanding oneself; craving no wealth or honor is refusing to exalt oneself. Set aside the former and choose the latter: abandon practices that endanger life and choose the path of the Dao.

Chapter 72

When people do not fear authority, greater authority will arrive.

If you think carefully before advancing, withdrawing, or acting, you will avoid serious mistakes. Do not make yourself cramped within the space you occupy, and do not let yourself sink into distress and exhaustion. Always know where to stop and understand when enough is enough. Do not grow weary of your life. Life has its limits—how can you force it beyond them? Precisely because you do not grow weary of life, life will not turn away from you, and you can attain longevity.

Thus, the sage understands himself but does not deliberately display himself; he cherishes himself but does not raise his own worth. Seeking no fame or acclaim is understanding oneself; craving no wealth or honor is refusing to exalt oneself. Set aside one side and choose the other: abandon practices that damage life and choose the path of the Dao.

Chapter 73

The courage to act recklessly and forcefully may lead to death; the courage not to act rashly can preserve life. Before acting, carefully weigh the benefits and harms. These two ways of acting bring different results: one may bring benefit, another harm. What does Heaven’s Dao reject? Who knows the reason? People do not know that Heaven’s Dao favors desirelessness and abhors striving over gain and loss.

Heaven’s Dao does not contend, yet excels at victory; it does not speak, yet receives a response; it does not summon, yet things come of themselves; it does not scheme, yet arranges things well. Heaven’s net is vast. Though its mesh seems loose, nothing slips through.

Heaven’s Dao moves with strength, and so it wins naturally and receives responses naturally. People do not know that Heaven’s Dao favors desirelessness and abhors striving over gain and loss. It does not contend, yet excels at victory; it does not speak, yet excels at receiving a response; it does not summon, yet things come of themselves; it does not scheme, yet arranges things well. Though the myriad things are many, all are held within the net of the Dao. Where could they escape? Heaven’s net may seem wide and loose, but it lets nothing slip through.

Chapter 74

If people are always unafraid of death, how can death be used to frighten them?

Few in the world can preserve themselves and stay clear of harm. Many indulge their desires and do not fear punishment—in other words, they do not fear death. If people truly do not fear death, and someone commits an extraordinary act, how can I casually kill him? Who would dare do such a thing? Who would dare kill someone who knows death and does not fear it?

Those charged with executions must carry out the punishments. To act in place of those charged with executions is like wielding an axe in place of a carpenter cutting wood. The same is true when those who hold authority over the laws take it upon themselves to impose punishments.

Few people can swing an axe in place of a master carpenter without injuring their own hands. Even master carpenters sometimes hurt themselves: at times their stroke falls too lightly, and at times too heavily.

Chapter 75

The people go hungry because their rulers levy too many taxes.

The people are difficult to govern because their rulers issue burdensome edicts, act arbitrarily, and treat them with harsh laws.

The people do not take death seriously because they pursue the comforts of life too extravagantly, craving fine food and hoarding gold, silver, and other treasures.

Only those who do not make the excessive pursuit of life their aim can surpass those who prize the nurturing of life and crave pleasure. Those who seek excessive ease and enjoyment are more likely to meet death; those with modest needs are better able to preserve their lives.

Chapter 76

While alive, the human body is soft; after death, it becomes rigid.

While the spirit and soul remain, the body is soft; when they disperse, the body becomes rigid.

As plants grow, they are tender and resilient; when they wither and die, they become dry and stiff.

While breath remains, the body is soft; when breath ceases, it becomes dry and rigid.

Thus, hardness and strength belong to death, while softness and weakness belong to life. For this reason, an army that relies on force will have difficulty winning; a tree that grows too thick and hard will be cut down.

An army should bring its people into harmony, and a tree should grow to a suitable size. The strong should take the lower position, and the yielding should be above: the treetop stands high, yet is prone to wither; the roots lie below, yet endure. The soldiers are at the front, while the commander should remain behind.

The pattern of Heaven is like drawing a bow: the high end of the bowstring is pressed down, and the low end is raised; what is in excess is reduced, and what is insufficient is replenished. The Way of Heaven always takes from what is in excess and adds to what is insufficient.

People, however, do things differently. They often take from those who have too little and offer it to those who already have plenty. The Way of Heaven prizes harmony and balance, just as a bow must be evenly adjusted, with no part out of alignment and each height properly set. Governing the world according to this principle is what can be called peace. Yet people often flatter the powerful and suppress the weak, making the few submit to the many. This is merely catering to those in power.

Who can take what they have in abundance and provide it to all under Heaven? Only one who has the Dao.

They use what they possess to help those in need.

Thus, the sage acts without claiming credit, and accomplishes things without taking pride in them. This is what it means not to exalt oneself for one’s abilities. The sage yields credit and gives stipends to worthy people, allowing De (Virtue) to benefit those of worth.

Nothing under Heaven is softer or weaker than water, yet nothing can surpass it in overcoming what is hard. Nothing can take the place of water in this. Water can temper iron implements, which proves the point.

Thus, the soft can overcome the hard, and the weak can overcome the strong. Few people under Heaven understand this principle, and few are able to put it into practice.

To bear a nation’s humiliation is to be its master; to bear the disasters of all under Heaven is to be its ruler. Straightforward words often sound like their opposite.

When a nation faces hardship, its feudal lords must bear responsibility; when all under Heaven suffers calamity, only the ruler can govern it. This is the Way of governing a state.

Even when deep resentment is brought to an end, some resentment is bound to remain. How can that be called true goodness?

If resentment has already arisen and is only then settled through mediation, that is not enough to be called goodness.

Therefore, the sage holds the left half of the tally—a token of debt once divided between borrower and lender—but does not use it to demand repayment. A person with De keeps faith as though holding a contract, without making a practice of collecting what is owed. A person without De, by contrast, is like one who manages the ruts of a cart: all they do is leave tracks of demands for repayment.

So, the sage holds the left half of the tally—a token that in ancient times was divided in two, with each party keeping one half to verify an agreement—but does not use it to make claims against others. A person of high virtue keeps faith as if holding a tally, without making excessive demands of others. A person without virtue, by contrast, is always trying to make others follow their own rules, and so gives rise to resentment. Here, “rut” refers to the tracks left by a wheel.

Heaven’s Dao shows no preference between those near and far; it is always in harmony with the good.

Chapter 80

Let the state be small and its population sparse. Even if there are people of every kind of ability, do not put them to use. Make the people cherish life and reluctant to move away.

If a small state is not governed by the Great Dao but instead employs people who flaunt their cleverness, strict laws and restrictions will drive people to risk their lives by fleeing to other states. The sage puts the Great Dao into practice without relying on cunning or schemes, and makes the people cherish life and unwilling to leave their homeland. “Move away” means to migrate.

Though there are boats and carts, let there be no need to ride in them; though there are weapons and armies, let there be no need to deploy them in battle.

Bring the people back to the way of life in which they tied knots to keep records—that is, return them to simplicity.

Let the people find their food delicious, their clothes suitable, their homes comfortable, and their customs enjoyable.

Let every household have enough and everyone be well fed and clothed, with no forced labor.

Neighboring states can see one another, and their borders do not encroach on each other. The sounds of dogs barking and chickens crowing can be heard across the way, and the neighbors live close by.

The people live self-sufficiently all their lives, and until they grow old and die, they have no dealings with one another in borrowing and lending.

Chapter 81

Truthful words are not necessarily pleasing; pleasing words are not necessarily true.

A wise person is not necessarily widely learned; a widely learned person is not necessarily wise.

A good person does not rely on arguments; someone skilled at arguing is not necessarily good.

The sage does not claim wealth or merit as their own. They do all they can to give to others, yet feel all the richer for it; they share what they have, yet find themselves more abundant. The Dao of Heaven benefits all things without harming them. The sage acts for the benefit of others and does not contend with them.

The sage does not hoard personal wealth, but does all they can to help others, who in turn help the sage. The sage and the people give to and support one another, so the more they share, the more they gain. The Dao of Heaven brings benefit without harm; the sage extends kindness without contention.